


Every Gravitational Wave

by IllyriatheSmurf7



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Developing Relationship, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Eventual Smut, F/F, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Psychological Trauma, Romance, no sex in 3x07
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-07-18
Updated: 2017-05-24
Packaged: 2018-07-25 07:36:42
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 28,177
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7524097
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/IllyriatheSmurf7/pseuds/IllyriatheSmurf7
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Clarke watched Lexa almost bleed out before her eyes, and it is finally impossible for her to deny her own feelings. But nothing is ever easy. Head over heart is a constant fight, Skaikru is still a problem, and a hidden threat lingers in the shadows. Clarke knows their future is uncertain, everything on the ground is, but she hasn't abandoned hope yet. Hope for a life about more than just surviving. Hope for that small measure of peace, that everyone seeks, and very few ever find.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This begins after Titus shoots Lexa, and it has a very different outcome. As in, Clarke remembers she has medical training.

“No. No!”

 

Clarke moves too late, paralyzed by the shock of the scene unfolding before her eyes, and her hands fail to catch Lexa. 

 

She frantically yells at Titus to help her put Lexa on the bed. He seems almost more upset than she is, his voice shaken and his hands all over Lexa’s face. It is a huge effort for Clarke to suppress her instinct to lash out at the man and yell at him that it’s all his fault, but she doesn’t have the time for an anger fit. Not when Lexa is bleeding out in front of her eyes. Not when Lexa is– No. She refuses to go there, even with only her thoughts. So she pushes her rage and her fear aside, and instead orders Titus to get her something to stop the bleeding.

 

As soon as Lexa is lying on the mattress Clarke doesn’t waste a second and presses her hands on the bleeding wound in the middle of Lexa’s chest, desperate to put a stop to the blood flowing out.

 

“You’ll be okay. Just lie still, okay? Lie still.”

 

She wants to be reassuring, a comforting presence for the injured girl that is currently spasming in pain, but her voice is frantic and anguished, it betrays her and reveals the panic she is feeling. A slender hand, strong and yet gentle, like she had come to know not even an hour ago, comes up and grasps at her own over the wound, black blood flowing through their fingers. Clarke’s eyes shoot up and meet clear green eyes, glossy with fear and pain but also filled with courage.

 

“D-don’t be afraid,” Lexa utters with a strained voice.

 

Clarke can’t believe Lexa. Even in this moment, even when there is a hole in her chest, her main concern is still for Clarke.

 

“You’re gonna be fine, just stay still.” It is an automatic answer by now, the only thing Clarke can bring herself to say, to think. _She’ll be okay. She’ll be okay._

 

But no amount of self reassurance is enough to stop the paralyzing fear that spreads through her veins, like cold poison: not when she rips Lexa’s shirt open and sees the true extent of Lexa’s injury.

 

Black blood spills everywhere, it wets Lexa’s stomach, soaks the white furs, and for a moment Clarke just freezes. Panic takes over and a horrifying thought suddenly intoxicates her mind.

 

She is not going to do it. She is not going to be able to save her.

 

It is Titus’ movements that take her out of her horrified trance. A small bowl with gauzes is placed on the bed, and Clarke snaps back into focus. This is what she needs: solutions, things to do, to throw herself into. Doing something is the only thing that can keep her fear at bay right now. 

 

Clarke’s hands fly to the gauzes and make quick work of unraveling them, to then press them against Lexa’s wound. _Remember your training, remember your training_. She repeats those words in her head over and over, trying to focus on them instead of on Lexa’s frequent whimpers of pain, but it is a whole challenge on its own. With every pained sound Lexa makes, Clarke feels an ache in her chest, almost as if she was the one who was shot instead of the Commander. Still, she tries. Lexa needs her, and she won’t let her die because of a bullet that wasn’t even meant for her.

 

“Stay with me,” she whispers, her voice trembling with worry at the sight of the bleeding still not stopping. She closes her eyes for a second, trying to think of a solution, and that brief moment of concentration dispels the thick fog clouding her thoughts. Long enough for her mother’s voice to resound in her head. _“The heel of your hand.”_

 

The words resonate loud in her ears and it is suddenly clear to her what she had been doing wrong. She folds better the gauzes, repositions her hands and then presses down hard with the heel of her hand. The moment she pushes down, Lexa’s body goes rigid and from her throat escapes a low, guttural sound that Clarke can only describe as a mix between a gasp and a sob. She still keeps her eyes on the wound: she doesn’t need to look at Lexa’s face to know she is in horrible pain. Those awful sounds and the stickiness of Lexa’s blood on her hands are more than enough to make her heart break without having to look at her.

 

She maintains the hard pressure over the wound for about ten minutes; her mind extends them to endless hours. But finally, _finally_ , she realizes that the bleeding is slowing down, and is very close to stopping. The realization breathes new life into her. She finds herself mentally thanking her mother for all the times she dragged her along to assist her in medical back on the Ark.

 

Clarke allows herself to breathe, to be relieved for about one second. She knows her work is far from done, though. The bleeding might be close to stopping but Lexa lost too much blood to be out of danger. Her mind quickly runs through every possible strategy, when it hits her.

 

“Titus, help me now. She is stable, but we need to get her to the infirmary.” 

 

Clarke remembers when Lexa showed her that area of the tower. Even if much more rudimental, all the things she needs are there.

 

“Send guards to get Aden and the other natblidas, all of them. I stopped the bleeding but she needs a transfusion as soon as possible. Come on, do as I said.”

 

So caught up in thinking about everything she’s going to have to do, it takes Clarke a moment to realize that she received no answer at all.

 

“Titus.” 

 

Clarke turns to look at him and what she sees leaves her confused and searching for an explanation she has no time to think about. Titus has placed on the bed a packet wrapped in a red rug, containing a small metal case, a scalpel and other instruments he is busy setting up ordinarily on the bed. Completely unconcerned with Clarke’s words.

 

“What the hell is that?” she asks angrily. They have no time to waste, and he is blatantly ignoring her. “I need your help, didn’t you hear me? Titus, what are you doing?!”

 

“He’s d-doing… his job.”

 

Clarke’s head snaps when she hears Lexa’s strained voice. The sight almost kills her: Lexa’s eyes red with unshed tears, skin extremely pale, a trickle of blood coming from her mouth. The last detail is an injection of dread and panic directly into Clarke’s heart: there is something wrong with Lexa’s breathing.

 

It reduces the time she thought she had by a lot, and it makes her only angrier that Titus, the main reason this happened, is making her waste precious seconds.

 

“He’s preparing f-for the ritual,” Lexa keeps explaining. “My spirit… Titus needs to pass it on to–“

 

“No!” Clarke doesn’t let her finish. “Your spirit is staying where it is, do you understand, Heda?” Clarke doesn’t understand in what way reincarnation of a spirit might involve a scalpel and pliers, but she couldn’t care less right now. She won’t let this happen.

 

“Clarke…” a single tear makes its way down Lexa’s temple. “ _Ai gonplei ste-_ “

 

“Stop!” Clarke refuses to even acknowledge Lexa’s words, they are too terrifying. “You’re not going anywhere, okay? I can fix you, so don’t you dare give up on me.”

 

“I’m not.” Lexa shuts her eyes for a moment, fighting against the pain to get the words out. “The next Commander will protect you.”

 

“I don’t want the next Commander,” Clarke growls out angrily. Anger that quickly dissipates and turns into despair at the sight of the sadness written all over Lexa’s face. Her eyes burn painfully while she whispers “I want _you_.”

 

It is a surprise to Clarke how easy it is for her to welcome this feeling she had fought for so long. She spent so much time trying to hate Lexa, to despise her, then to ignore the pull she had always felt towards her. Only now she realizes how foolish she was, wasting time pushing Lexa away and suppressing her own feelings, when this, only this, feels right. What a cruel irony to realize how much she wants and _needs_ Lexa only now that she is so close to losing her.

 

She wonders if this is the price to pay for everything she did. Wanheda has so much blood on her hands, maybe it is her fate: to be alone and lose everything she loves. Maybe Wanheda is able to command death only by stealing life from those she loves.

 

But she looks at Lexa and Lexa is staring right back at her. Her big eyes are liquid with tears, but it only makes the green in them stand out more. Crystalline water shining under the sun rays. Clarke is bare under that stare, stripped of any title, any terrifying name. Not Wanheda, not the Mountain Slayer. To Lexa, _with_ Lexa, she is only Clarke. And _Clarke_ is not ready to lose Lexa.

 

“I need to start the ritual.”

 

Titus’s voice takes her out of her thoughts.

 

“Clarke, you need to step back.”

 

“No,” she growls.

 

“Please. This is my purpose as Flamekeeper. It is too late to do-“

 

“It’s not too late!” She stares back at him, her eyes throwing daggers. “You’re the reason she’s here in the first place, so you don’t get to decide it’s too late. It’s not! My mother is a healer. She taught me, Titus, and I can fix her. You just have to do what I say.”

 

There’s a struggle happening behind Titus’ eyes, Clarke can watch it unravel. Duty versus love. The Flamekeeper versus the man. Resignation versus hope. Clarke feels no sympathy for him after what he did, but she knows he cares for Lexa. She can’t deny the obviousness of his feelings for her. This is what gives her hope about him listening to her.

 

She is still surprised, though, when eventually he lets out a sigh and says “What do I have to do?”

 

Clarke breathes in relief, but she’s quick to snap back into focus.

 

“Okay. Okay, I got this. We have to move her to the infirmary. She needs a blood transfusion and for that I need–“

 

Titus doesn’t even let her finish.

 

“Guards!” he screams, striding towards the door. As soon as two sentries rush inside the room, he doesn’t waste time.

 

“Find the natblida and bring them to the healer’s chambers as quickly as possible. Go, now,” he orders with authority. Once the guards are gone, he turns to Clarke again. It is surprising to her how low and shaky his voice sounds when he whispers “Now what?”

 

“Now we move her.”

 

Titus simply nods and reaches for Lexa, ready to take her in his arms and rush her to the infirmary.

 

“Wait!” Clarke suddenly stops him, right when he is about to lift Lexa up.

 

She knows there is no way she can keep putting pressure on the wound with Titus carrying Lexa. So she does the only thing she can think of: she takes Lexa’s hand and places it above the bloodied gauzes, showing Lexa gently but firmly how to press on the wound. 

 

“Keep this here, okay?”

 

Lexa gives one sharp nod, and Clarke is ready to let go, when Lexa twists her thumb and brushes it softly against the inside of Clarke’s wrist. 

 

It is a soft touch, tender, completely intentional, and Clarke can’t help but glance at their hands before looking up and meeting Lexa’s eyes. What she finds slams the breath out of her lungs. Beyond the tears, beyond the obvious pain, Clarke finds something else: _gratitude_.

 

There is a ‘thank you’ hidden inside her green eyes, and Clarke can only imagine the reason for it: “ _Thank you for not giving up. Thank you for doing your best. Thank you, whatever happens, for caring enough to try.”_

 

Clarke’s throat clamps down at the realization, her heart throbs painfully with the sudden sadness that washes over her. 

 

This is _enough_ to Lexa. 

 

If she were to die now, the thought that Clarke cared enough to try to save her would still be enough. And it is heartbreaking. Heartbreaking and so incredibly unfair that Lexa was deprived of love and affection for so long to consider being cared for on her deathbed something to be grateful for.

 

Determination even stronger than before sparks like a flame inside Clarke. It is _not_ enough. Lexa deserves better. And Clarke is going to make sure she has the time and chance to realize it herself.

 

“Your fight is _not_ over,” Clarke whispers sternly, a contrast with the gentle squeeze she gives Lexa’s hand. She lingers there for one last moment, and finally she forces herself to move away from Lexa.

 

It is the signal Titus was waiting for. He takes his Commander in his arms and lifts her from the bed, murmuring an apology when Lexa gasps at the sudden movement.

 

“Careful. Careful, hold her as still as possible,” Clarke says, growing more preoccupied with every sound of distress coming from Lexa’s mouth.

 

Titus is sure in his movements, though. He keeps Lexa close to his chest to steady her body as best as he can, and in a matter of seconds they are out of the room.

 

The journey to the healer’s chambers feels endless. Clarke starts breathing again only when she sees the closed doors of the medical area. She rushes past Titus and opens them for him. They get inside and that’s when a new wave of panic hits Clarke: except for the tower’s healer, the room is empty.

 

The man wears a surprised look on his face, obviously not informed about the recent events. The natblidas instead, are nowhere to be found.

 

“Flamekeeper, what- Heda!”

 

The healer runs to one of the beds on the side of the room, instructing Titus to lay Lexa there.

 

“ _Chit don kom au_?”

 

“She was shot.”

 

The moment Titus lays Lexa down, Clarke is immediately at her side again, replacing Lexa’s hand with her own. She doesn’t like what she finds when she gives the grounder a quick check over: Lexa is much paler than before, skin covered with a thin layer of perspiration, and her breathing seems to be getting even more uneven.

 

“I need new bandages,” Clarke orders. The onesshe used to stop the bleeding are completely soaked, black with Lexa’s blood, and pretty much useless.

 

Luckily the healer is ready in his response, and Clarke has to wait merely a few seconds before receiving clean, dry gauzes.

 

“ _Fayagon_?” Clarke nods quickly, too busy changing the bandages. “How?”

 

This time she can’t help herself. She stops for a moment and her eyes pin Titus with a deadly glare. She is happy to see him look down in shame.

 

“It doesn’t matter right now,”she eventually hisses through gritted teeth before going back to work.

 

“I have scarce training with this, Wanheda.”

 

“It’s not important. What I need now is–“

 

She is interrupted by the sound of hurried steps and the doors slamming open.

 

_Thank God_ , she finds herself thinking when she sees Lexa’s novitiates entering the room escorted by two guards. One glance towards her and Lexa and the reaction is immediate.

 

“Heda!”

 

Aden is the first one to rush towards them with a panicked look on his face, rapidly followed by the other children.

 

“ _Em’s ogud_ , Aden,” Lexa rasps out. “ _Nou… n-nou get–_ “

 

“Don’t worry,” Clarke finishes for her, noticing Lexa’s obvious struggle in uttering even those few words. It’s not good. It’s far from good.

 

“I can cure your Heda, but I need help from you. All of you.”

 

“We’ll do anything,” Aden answers without hesitation, the other nightbloods promptly nodding in agreement. It makes Clarke’s lips curve into the smallest hint of a smile. Their devotion and love for Lexa is undeniable, and suddenly Clarke feels even more compelled not to fail. Too many hearts would be broken if she did, she cannot allow that.

 

“Okay. Alright, set them up,” she tells the healer, gesturing towards the children. “I need you to draw blood from them, as many bags as you can.” She wants to be sure, leave nothing to chance.

 

The healer nods, glad to finally be able to take active part in trying to rescue his Commander. He moves away from them and sits the natblida down on the other beds in the room, before hurrying to take the instruments he needs for the transfusion. He doesn’t pause or hesitate; he knows what he has to do and how to do it, Clarke is happy to find. 

 

“C-Clarke…”

 

Clarke’s head snaps back towards Lexa, her focus once again on the grounder. 

 

“I’m here.” Her eyes narrow in confusion when she sees the concern in Lexa’s eyes. “What’s wrong?”

 

“This p-procedure… the natblida– is this… are m-my children…”

 

Clarke’s heart warms up when she realizes what is happening, when she understands that Lexa’s concern stems from her deep care for the nightbloods.

 

“Yes, Lexa. They are safe, this is completely safe for them. You lost a lot of blood, so I need to take some from them. You are one, they are many. It’s safe.”

 

Lexa gives one single shaky nod, letting out a small sigh of relief. 

 

“Good. That’s-“ She doesn’t finish. Her words turn into a dry cough that has her whole body spasming.

 

“Hey! Hey Lexa, come on, breathe.”

 

The fit doesn’t last for long, but when it finally dies down, Lexa’s breathing comes in nothing but short, hoarse gasps. Clarke is all but horrified recognizing what is happening: she is suffocating. Lexa is suffocating, and Clarke is paralyzed.

 

“What is happening to her?”

 

Titus is by Clarke’s side again, his voice frantic and full of worry. He keeps stroking Lexa’s hair, much like Clarke would want to do if she wasn’t busy keeping the gauzes pressed over the wound.

 

“I- I…”

 

“Clarke, what is wrong with her?!” he all but screams when Clarke fails to answer immediately. Lexa having another convulsion surely doesn’t help easing Clarke’s growing panic. “You said you could fix her, instead you’re only condemning her to a slower death!”

 

Clarke wants to tell him to shut up, she wants to contradict him and show him she has a plan, a successful plan, but the words die in her throat. The truth is that she is scared. Absolutely terrified. The weight of everyone’s stare crushes her down and she finds herself shutting her own eyes tight, her breathing growing almost as unsteady as Lexa’s. Titus’ shouts reach her ears muffled, Lexa’s broken words of reassurance are nothing more than an echo. Lexa’s life literally depends on her, and she doesn’t know what to do.

 

_“I’m not a real doctor!”_ she wants to scream. She is doing her best, but she doesn’t have enough knowledge and skills. She is not her–

 

“Mom…”

 

Clarke’s eyes snap open as the though hits her. Titus is still talking but she shuts out his voice. A plan of action starts developing in her mind: she can visualize it clearly, step by step. It is crazy, it isa gamble, but it is also her best chance to save Lexa. She quickly evaluates all her other options and she realizes she has none: she might have stopped the bleeding and found a way to give Lexa the transfusions she needs, but if she doesn’t figure out what is wrong with her breathing and treats it, Lexa will die.

 

When Clarke realizes this, it really isn’t that hard to make the choice.

 

“Sentries!”

 

The guards who had escorted the natblida are immediately by her side.

 

“Go find Indra kom Trikru.”

 

“What is the meaning of this?” Clarke just ignore Titus, not having any time to waste.

 

“She has a radio, and I need that. Go, be as fast as possible!”

 

She is relieved to see them storm out of the room with no hesitation. Not that she is really surprised: Lexa is loved by her people, they would do anything for her. _Even kill_ , she thinks angrily when Titus starts shouting again.

 

“Why are you wasting time? You should be focusing on-“

 

“I’m not wasting time! There is something wrong with her lungs, Titus, and if we don't do something quickly, she…”

 

Clarke stops, her eyes finding Lexa’s. The grounder’s gaze doesn’t waver; she knows exactly what Clarke is about to say, and yet she shows no fear. If anything, her eyes encourage Clarke, they give her the strength she needs to overcome her own fear and finish the sentence.

 

“She will die.”

 

The children’s gasps trap her heart into a vise, Aden’s shaky words of reassurance for his brothers and sisters threaten to make her burst into tears, but she pushes everything down. She tries to ignore her own terror, and instead she hardens her gaze, instilling as much confidence as possible in her voice before resuming talking.

 

“My mother is a doctor. The best I know. If I can get in contact with her, she can tell me what to do. She can save her, Titus.”

 

Titus isn’t shouting anymore, but neither does he seen reassured.

 

“A plan based on waiting and hoping is not a plan,” he says with a low voice. Clarke can feel rage gnawing at her insides: it is all his fault. He shot Lexa and even now that Clarke is doing her best to fix the damage he did, he keeps antagonizing her.

 

She is about to start screaming at him again, when a throaty, whispering voice stops her.

 

“Clarke.”

 

Titus is forgotten in the span of a second.

 

“I’m here.”

 

Her bloodied hand comes up to ghost over the side of Lexa’s face. She would tell Lexa not to talk, to save her energies, but she knows her words would go to waste: Lexa is stubborn. Almost as much as she is. Instead she just patiently waits for Lexa’s chest to stop spasming, running gently her fingers down her hairline to distract her from the physical discomfort. 

 

When she finally utters the words, Clarke’s eyes fill with tears.

 

“I do… I do trust you, Clarke.”

 

Memories from months ago swarm Clarke’s mind. Those same words murmured with hesitancy, so opposed to the tenacity behind them right now. Soft, warm lips against hers that had surprised her, and always surprisingly had made her feel home for the shortest moment.She remembers unexpected tenderness and vulnerability and hope. All crushed by the cruelty of their world. It took Clarke four months to get through it–sometimes she is not even sure she completely has–but if there is anything she is sure of is that she is _not_ letting it happen a second time.

 

“I’m not letting you go anywhere, do you understand that?”

 

The tears in her eyes almost fall down when Lexa nods slowly and the corner of Lexa’s lips curve into the hint of a smirk. Clarke doesn’t know why. Maybe it is just the thought that Lexa looks so goddamn beautiful when she smiles, that it is a shame Clarke has seen her do it in so few occasions, that she definitely wants more time to experience that smile again.

 

“Good,” she says determined. _Good_.

 

Her fear temporarily suppressed, Clarke lets her mind run again, thinking about the way to proceed while waiting for the radio.

 

_Damage control_.

 

She has never been more grateful for her medical training: even if rough and overall superficial, it gives her something to do. If she had to wait without doing absolutely doing nothing, she has no doubt she would go insane.

 

So, she occupies her time.

 

She cleans Lexa’s wound with alcohol; hearing Lexa hiss in pain is a price Clarke will pay if it means preventing any infection from developing.

 

Once done with that, she tapes the bandages covering the wound to Lexa’s stomach, so that she finally can have her hands free.

 

When the healer tells her a few bags of blood are ready, Clarke actually allows herself to smile. Smile that falters, though, when she inserts the needle for the transfusion in Lexa’s arm and sees Lexa grimace in response. It doesn’t take long for Clarke to realize that yes, receiving new blood gives Lexa new strength, but at the same time makes her less dizzy and more aware of pain.

 

Not to mention that her breathing just keeps worsening.

 

Clarke tries to ignore it, to stay on task and focus only on things she can actually control.

 

And then Lexa makes a strangled sound and coughs up blood.

 

“No, no, no, come on!”

 

Cold fear threatens to paralyze her, but Clarke somehow puts it on the back burner. Lexa can’t afford a panicking healer; she needs someone focused, someone who can stay sharp. It shouldn’t be that hard, to stay detached. But it is one of the hardest things she has ever had to do.

 

“Titus! Help me!”

 

The Flamekeeper is immediately next to her and, following Clarke’s instructions, he helps her roll Lexa over on her side.

 

“Come on, Lexa… Breathe.”

 

From the moment the fit starts, it is clear to Clarke that this is different, that they have reached a breaking point. Lexa’s body shakes and writhes with every attempt at gulping down air. More drops of blood spurt out of her mouth, and after a particularly desperate suction that does nothing to provide Lexa’s lungs with the oxygen they are craving, Lexa’s eyes go wide and they meet Clarke’s. She needs no words for Clarke to understand what that look means.

 

Lexa is scared.

 

She is just as frightened as Clarke, and contrary to earlier–while she was selflessly trying to reassure Clarke–this time she cannot hide it.

 

It is a realization that almost makes Clarke nauseous with its magnitude. Lexa never shows fear, she never panics, and yet now she looks like a scared child.

 

“Clarke, do something!”

 

“Wanheda, please don’t let her die…”

 

Titus and the natblida’s voices are like a hammer to her head, and this time Clarke has no way to shut them out. She tries, though. She utters words of reassurance to Lexa that do the opposite of their purpose, only giving away her panic.

 

“You’re gonna be okay. You’re gonna be fine, you just have to hold on for a little longer. Just hold on, ok? Just–“

 

Her voice cracks, she cannot even finish her sentence. Those words sound so empty and false; they don’t work with Lexa and certainly they don’t work with herself. No matter how many times she repeats that it is just a matter of time and Lexa will be okay. There are three little colossal words that echo in her head in a loop, shutting out everything else. 

 

_Lexa will die_.

 

It is Clarke who now feels like she cannot breathe, like her throat is constricted and air cannot reach her lungs. The cruel poetic justice of making her suffer the same pain Lexa is going through. Except that her suffering will be worse, much worse. She already knows it. She cannot go through this again. Too many are the people she cared about and lost: Lexa will be the final blow, it will break her definitively. And as much as a part of Clarke believes she deserves no happiness, no respite from torment for all the crimes she has committed, she doesn’t want this to be her end. She doesn’t want to become a living ghost.

 

She looks down where Lexa’s hand is grabbing the bedsheets, and takes it in her own. Lexa holds on to her impossibly tight, but when she looks back up into her eyes, beyond all that pain, Clarke finds something else. Relief. Lexa basks in that small contact, and her eyes once again tell everything her mouth doesn’t say. 

 

_“That’s why I-“_ Clarke didn’t need her to finish the sentence to know what she meant. Just like now she doesn’t need Lexa to utter any word to know.

 

She wishes it could be only the two of them. Just them, together in these final moments. Maybe then, she would be brave enough to tell Lexa everything she was too afraid to tell her before, everything she denied and tried to fight for so long. But if she’s not going to have any more chances, what is the point of being afraid?

 

“Lexa… I–“

 

And then, Clarke is stopped. Not by her fear, not by the children’s apprehensive pleas, but by another voice. Urgent, firm. Familiar.

 

“Clarke!”

 

Hearing her name being called, Clarke spins her head towards the door. Her eyes widen in surprise at the sight of Octavia rushing to her.

 

“Octavia? What… why are you–“

 

“I was with Indra when they came for her.” Octavia nods back and Clarke sees the sentries she had sent out entering the room. “They told us what happened, and right now I’m faster than she is.”

 

Octavia pauses for a moment, catching her breath, and that’s when her eyes fall on Lexa’s form. She doesn’t have to ask to know how serious the situation here. One exchange of looks with Clarke and she has confirmation. And before Clarke has the time to ask, Octavia extends her hand to Clarke. A rush of hope goes through Clarke when she sees the radio.

 

“It’s all set,” Octavia says when Clarke grabs the radio from her.

 

Clarke looks back to Lexa and gives her hand a light squeeze. When Lexa squeezes back, right before letting go, Clarke knows she has understood. 

 

_There’s hope. Don’t give up._

 

They both need nothing more. Swallowing down her despair and replacing it with fortitude, Clarke turns the radio on. For a few seconds all she hears is nothing but continuous crackling. But then,

 

“ _Hello?_ ”

 

Clarke literally gasps in relief at the sound of her mother’s voice.

 

“Mom? Mom, can you hear me?”

 

“ _Clarke? Yes, honey. I’m -ere._ ”

 

The sound isn’t perfectly clear, and Abby’s voice sounds at times distorted, but overall, it is understandable. Clarke needs nothing else.

 

“Mom, I need your help. Lexa was shot, and I need your help.” She cannot do anything to prevent her voice from quivering. It still feels so surreal.

 

“ _Octavia told me -rything. Clarke, I’m gonna -eed you to describe me her c—ditions._ ”

 

“Gunshot wound to the chest. I used alcohol to prevent infection and stopped the bleeding.” She lets the medical trainee in her take over.

 

“ _Good, Clarke. You -id great. She will need a transfusion. Can you–_ “ 

 

“I already took care of that. Mom… she cannot breathe properly. I put her on her side but–“

 

“ _You did good. But baby, I’m g-nna need as many d-tails as possible._ ”

 

“Ok, ok,” she nods, telling herself to stay focused and calm down. To pretend she didn’t hear the change in her mother’s voice when she mentioned Lexa’s breathing problem. 

 

She murmurs an apology to Lexa when she starts running tests on her body. She checks her heart rate, inspect her wound again to see if she missed some important detail, asks Lexa to take the deepest breath she can manage and observes her body’s reaction to it. After that, Lexa looks even weaker than before.

 

“Mom? She is really pale and her heart is racing. Her breath is short, wheezing, and she cannot take a deeper breath without coughing, sometimes blood. And whenever she inhales, the left side of her chest barely lifts up.”

 

“ _Wait. Only one side -f her chest isn’t lifting? -nd she’s coughing -p blood?_ ”

 

“Yes, yes.” Clarke stares into Lexa’s unfocused eyes, and feels her own burning with unshed tears. She is beyond terrified that her mother will tell her there is nothing to do. That this will have all been for nothing. 

 

“Mom…” she begs.

 

“ _She has a collapsed lung._ ”

 

Clarke’s eyebrows suddenly narrow. That doesn’t sound like a death sentence. It actually sounds familiar. And all at once, Clarke’s mind offers her the memories of the time she witnessed something similar: Anya’s second, Tris.

 

“I’ve seen this before,” Clarke tells her mother, but is also quick to voice her concerns. “I tried to save a grounder child months ago. She had trouble breathing too, but it wasn’t as bad, and she wasn’t coughing up blood.”

 

“ _That’s because Lexa’s pleural cavity must be filled with blood and fluid. The pressure on her lung makes it impossible for her to -reathe. You need to treat it quickly, Clark-_ ”

 

Clarke shuts her eyes tightly and clutches the radio so hard it hurts her hand. She knows what her mother is implicitly saying, the meaning behind her words. She had figured it by herself, but to have actual confirmation about how uncertain Lexa’s fate is, threatens to overwhelm her. It is only Octavia’s hand on her shoulder that grounds her back to reality and stops her from being swallowed by panic.

 

“What do I need to do?” she chokes out.

 

“ _You need to relieve the pressure by draining the blood from the cavity. I will guide you, baby, you can -o it._ ”

 

Her stomach churns at the thought of what she is going to have to do to Lexa, but she has no other choice. She tells herself that Lexa is strong and will stand this, but it does nothing to ease her anguish.

 

“Cla-rke…” Lexa’s croaky voice catches her attention. “Remember w-what I told you.”

 

This time Clarke cannot help herself, and a single tear falls down her face. _I do trust you_. This is exactly what Clarke finds in Lexa’s eyes: unwavering trust. Clarke cannot remember a single time Lexa has doubted her, and once again, even when it is her own life to be on the line, Lexa has faith in her. She is giving her trust to Clarke. And Clarke will be damned if she doesn’t do everything in her power to repay that trust.

 

Her voice is the firmest she can manage when she brushes her fingers through Lexa’s hair and says “I’m _not_ letting you die.”

 

The smallest hint of a nod from Lexa is all she needs.

 

“I’m ready, mom,” she says.

 

“ _Okay, Clarke. You’re gonna need a l-rge bottle half filled with water, scalpel, a surgical clamp, -nd the biggest plastic tube you c-n find._ ”

 

Clarke shudders at the mention of the instruments she is going to have to use on Lexa, but she ignores her discomfort and instead looks for the healer.

 

“I’ll get them,” he says before Clarke even has time to ask.

 

“Okay, we have those things, mom. What else?”

 

“ _You said you alread- placed her on her side, that’s good. Adjust her to a 45° angle. Then you have to position her arm above her head. And Clarke?_ ”

 

Already moving to carry out the instructions, Clarke stops when she hears the hesitancy in her mother’s voice.

 

“ _You’re gonna have to hold her still._ ”

 

The thought alone is cringeworthy. She knows exactly what her mother is talking about: grounders don’t have anesthesia. Lexa is going to be awake the whole time, she is going to _feel_ everything. 

 

“I’ll help,” Clarke hears Octavia say but she doesn’t care much. All her focus is on Lexa. She looks down into her green eyes and from her face, it is clear that Lexa has understood. Her jaw is clenched impossibly tight when she gives Clarke a sharp nod, giving her assent.

 

“Alright…I need a knife first.”

 

She hands the radio to Titus to have both her hands free and uses the blade he gives her to cut off what is left of Lexa’s shirt from her body. Then she takes her left arm and raises it above her head. Lexa utters no complaint when her wrist is tied to the headboard and Octavia moves next to her, ready to hold her down. When the healer joins them with a tray of instruments, there is no reason to wait anymore.

 

“We’re set, mom.”

 

“ _Okay, Clarke. Now rememb-r what I taught you. You need to identify the fifth intercostal space. You’re gonna cut between the midaxillary and anterior axillary line._ ”

 

In full healer mode, Clarke palpates Lexa’s side until she finds the precise spot her mother is talking about, and keeping a finger there to mark it, she sterilizes the patch of skin and her own hands with alcohol.

 

“Found it.”

 

“ _Now m-ke an incision of about 2 inches._ ”

 

The healer is quick to hand her the scalpel, and after whispering an apology to Lexa, she brings the blade to her skin and cuts.

 

Lexa’s entire body goes rigid and she shuts her eyes, but she doesn’t move. Apart from her wheezing breath, no sound comes from her. Clarke doesn’t stop to check if she is okay either: she knows this is still tolerable for Lexa, and she cannot afford to waste any more time, no matter how concerned she is.

 

“Now what?”

 

There is a brief pause before her mother goes on with her explanation.

 

“ _Now it’s the bad part…”_ Clarke knew it was coming, but still she cannot suppress the shudder that runs down her spine. 

 

“ _Take the clamp and insert it through the incision. Th-n keep pushing ––til you pass through the intercostal muscles and parietal pleura and enter the cavity. Once you’re in, you need t- open the clamp to enlarge the tract through all layers of the chest wall. It will be easier to insert the tube like this_.”

 

Clarke is more and more horrified with each step her mother explains to her, but she doesn’t dare interrupt her. She cannot make any mistake and can’t let anything distract her, not even her own terror. Feeling under her hand the tremors going through Lexa’s body certainly doesn’t help, though.

 

“ _Withdraw the opened clamp and replace it with your finger to keep the tract op-n. Then insert the tube into the pleural cavity and place the free end inside the bottle. If you did everything right, you’ll see blood starting to drain immediately and Lexa will be -ble to breathe again._ ”

 

The healer places the clamp in Clarke’s hand, but for a second, she is frozen. This can’t work, she is not good enough, Lexa won’t handle the pain.

 

“You can do it, Clarke.”

 

Octavia’s voice snaps her out of her trance. Her friend is in position, already holding Lexa down before Clarke has even started. She knows this isn’t something Lexa will be able to handle without struggling.

 

Then Lexa coughs again and Clarke knows she cannot wait anymore.

 

Clarke takes a deep breath, mustering up all her courage, and she brings the clamp close to the cut.

 

“This is gonna hurt, Lexa…” she whispers, and she sees Lexa clenching her fist tightly, bracing herself for the pain.

 

A final apology comes out of Clarke’s mouth, and then she pushes the clamp inside the incision.

 

Lexa’s reaction is immediate. A strangled gasp escapes from her throat, and her body tenses up all at once, forcing Octavia to push down to keep her still. Lexa tries her best to keep quiet and not to struggle, but when Clarke forces her way through the muscles and inside the cavity, the pain becomes too intense, and she starts screaming.

 

It is harrowing. Clarke has never heard Lexa scream like that before. She grabbed a blade with her bare hand and she barely whimpered; Clarke doesn’t want to imagine the agony she must be going through. And knowing she can’t do anything to stop it, that instead she is going to have to hurt her even more, leaves Clarke with nothing to do but trying to shut out those screams and praying that Lexa passes out soon.

 

When she opens the clamp and stretches out the wound, Lexa starts thrashing about, her body instinctively trying to escape the unbearable pain. It takes Titus and another guard to help Octavia hold her still while Clarke finishes enlarging the tract. And when she eventually starts withdrawing the clamp, her prayers are answered and Lexa, after one last convulsion, finally passes out.

 

Clarke breathes in relief at the knowledge that Lexa will be spared the pain of these last steps, and it is easier for her now to complete her task. Once the clamp is out she replaces it with her finger, keeping the tract open as her mother said, and then takes the tube from the healer’s hand.

 

She starts inserting it, slowly, carefully. Fully aware that this is the hardest part: that if she pushes too much the tube will damage the lung and it will all be over.

 

It isn’t as easy as she thought; the tube doesn’t go in smoothly, she has to struggle to push through the layers of tissue, and for a moment she is sure she must have done something wrong.

 

She is about to let despair overcome her, but then it happens. Something gives in, and suddenly a rush of black blood goes through the tube.

 

After the blood has started running, it doesn’t take more than a few seconds for Clarke to hear Lexa exhale heavily, and then fill her lungs with all the air that had been denied to her until now.

 

Finally breathing.

 

“It worked…”

 

Clarke cannot quite wrap her head around it initially. She is still holding the tube, staring in disbelief at the blood running through it and inside the bottle. So much blood. It is astonishing that Lexa managed to hold on for so long with that kind of pressure on one lung, but she did. She did and she survived.

 

Still struggling to believe it, Clarke presses two fingers against Lexa’s pulse point, and finds one last confirmation: her heartbeat, so erratic until only moments ago, is starting to slow down.

“It- it worked!”

 

The words come out in the form of a choked laugh. She keeps shaking her head because this is too good to be true, it must be a dream. But Lexa’s blood is sticky on her hands and the natblidas’ gleeful, relieved cheers are loud in her ears. This actually happened. She saved Lexa. She did it.

 

“ _You did good, Clarke. You did reall- good._ ” 

 

Her mother’s words bring Clarke back to reality. So lost in this moment of relief and euphoria she almost forgot that she had more to ask, more to worry about.

 

She grabs the radio from Titus’ hands. “Do I… do I have to do anything else?”

 

“ _You just have to secure the tube with stitches._ ”

 

“That’s it? Are you sure? What about the bullet? It’s still inside.”

 

“ _It’s okay, Clarke, the bullet isn’t something to worry about. Removing it would cause more damage than good._ ”

 

“But we can’t be sure. Have I done enough? What if I made a mistake? Maybe I should–“

 

“ _Clarke…_ ” her mother cuts her off. “ _You did good._ ”

 

It is _that_ part of Clarke that is making her worry so much: that part of her that doesn’t believe she deserves anything good, that tells her constantly she is nothing but a failure, because monsters don’t get redemption, they don’t get good things.

 

But this time she did, and the realization is almost overwhelming. 

 

She doesn’t protest when Octavia gently takes the radio from her hand and ends the call with Abby. She doesn’t argue when the healer tells her he will take care of the stitches. She doesn’t have the strength for it. Instead, her eyes fall on Lexa again.

 

Clarke brings her fingers to her face but stops, right before touching her. Too afraid that, if she does, she will end up hurting Lexa, or that she will break this spell. That she will wake up from this dream in which she didn’t fail.

 

Her father. Wells. Finn. People she loved and who trusted her. People she failed. But not this time: not with Lexa. The one Clarke was most certain she would lose is still there with her. Not another ghost ready to haunt her soul. 

 

Alive.

 

It is too much to take in. The adrenaline that had kept her going during these unbearable moments is wearing out, and Clarke is now prey to all the emotions she had tried to suppress. They all wash over her at once. One above all of them.

 

Rage.

 

The hand that she so delicately had brought to Lexa’s face tightens into a fist.

 

“You…” she seethes through gritted teeth. And before anyone can stop her, Clarke throws herself at Titus.

 

“You son of a bitch!”

 

She gets one punch to his face, one punch he doesn’t defend himself from, before Octavia grabs her and pulls her away from him. She flails around in Octavia’s arms, so violently that her friend almost cannot hold her back.

 

“You almost killed her! You shot her and you almost killed her!” The room has fallen dead quiet but for Clarke’s screams of anger. Titus doesn’t even try to argue or say anything in his defense, he knows he can’t.

 

“Clarke, calm down,” Octavia tries, but Clarke is uncontrollable.

 

“No! He’s a murderer! He almost took her away! I almost–“

 

Right then, right on the verge of saying it out loud, of saying that she almost lost Lexa, it becomes real. The enormity of what almost happened hits Clarke full force, and she cannot hold it together anymore.

 

The lump in her throat becomes too huge to choke back, the tears burn too much. And there, in Octavia’s arms, without giving a single care about the people watching her, Clarke breaks down and starts sobbing.

 

Clarke cries and sobs, letting out all the anguish and despair felt during this ordeal. Her sobs echo into the silent room, only Octavia’s whispers in her ear joining them, confirming what Clarke desperately needs to hear.

 

“ _It didn’t happen. She is alive, Clarke… She’s alive._ ”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigedasleng:
> 
> "Chit don kom au?" - What happened?  
> "Fayagon?" - Firearm?  
> "Em's ogud" - It's okay


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WOWOWOWOW!!! The response to the first chapter has been just AMAZING!! Thank you to everyone who read and left kudos and commented. I could hug everyone of you :D  
> Here is the second chapter, hopefully you'll like this too :) As always, let me know what you guys think!

_"Clarke…”_

 

_Clarke has always loved Lexa’s way of saying her name. But this–this husky whisper filled with so much need and desire–is something she had not yet heard. It tickles her senses, it settles inside her heart and beneath her skin, becoming immediately addictive._

 

_Wanting to hear it again, she places another soft kiss against the skin of Lexa’s stomach, but it is the flick of her tongue into the dip of Lexa’s navel that gives Clarke even more than what she was hoping for. Lexa lets out a soft gasp this time, before Clarke’s name falls from her lips once again. It makes Clarke’s entire body throb with need._

 

_She had a precise pattern in her mind, but her attention is ripped from it by a hand cradling the side of her face. She looks up and finds hooded green eyes staring right back at her. The utter adoration so visible in them tugs at her heart and at her lower stomach, in a different way than Lexa’s gasps and whimpers had been doing, but no less intense. A sudden urge overwhelms her and she crawls back up, settling her body on top of Lexa’s, before capturing her lips for a kiss._

 

_It’s hungrier than their first kiss, shared only minutes earlier. Needier. Lexa’s hands find Clarke’s hips and their breasts rub together with every small motion. Their bras are still on, but the light contact is enough to send ripples of pleasure running straight to her core._

 

_No words are exchanged, but no words are needed anyway. This is how they can be completely honest with each other without being scared of the truth: through quiet moans, soft shudders and heady kisses._

 

_It is too much and not even remotely enough to Clarke. Lexa’s touches and the taste of her mouth are making her dizzy. She breaks the kiss for an instant, just to nip at the grounder’s lower lip. Her reward is a groan this time, and Clarke realizes she wants to discover all the sounds she can make Lexa let out, because everyone of them is more intoxicating than the previous one._

 

_She dives back in for another kiss, with this exact purpose in her mind, but it is then that she becomes aware of something odd._

 

_So lost in the feeling of Lexa’s tongue gliding against hers, she doesn’t realize what it is immediately. But slowly it becomes more and more noticeable. A different taste mixes to the normal flavor of Lexa’s mouth. Hot and salty and oddly metallic. Leaving Clarke confused enough to take her out of the moment._

 

_She breaks the kiss and lifts her head, but the second her eyes meet Lexa’s lips, confusion is replaced by cold terror._

 

_There is blood coming out of Lexa’s mouth. Black blood staining her lips and trickling down her face._

 

_Clarke can only stare in shock, she cannot even utter a single word. Lexa’s body, so soft and pliant in Clarke’s hands merely seconds ago, is now rigid and tense, shaking with every cough that escapes Lexa’s throat._

 

_“Lexa?”_

 

_Clarke shoots back, partly in horror and partly in desperate need to figure out why Lexa is suddenly spitting out blood. It doesn’t stay a mystery for long. It’s impossible to miss the bleeding wound right in the middle of Lexa’s chest._

 

_“W-what…”_

 

_Clarke’s chest tightens painfully, her breath stuck in her throat. She doesn’t understand. She doesn’t_ understand _how this is possible. Lexa was fine. She was in her arms and she was fine, and now she is… she is dying._

 

_“Hey! Hey, stay with me, okay?” Clarke’s hands fly to Lexa’s injury, but no amount of pressure seems enough to stop the bleeding._

 

_“C–Clar…” Lexa doesn’t even have enough strength to say Clarke’s name, and she is so confused and terrified and ready to start crying._

 

_“Please, stay with me… Please don’t go,” she sobs out, hot tears welling up behind her eyes when Lexa coughs up more blood. They were so happy. They were finally having a moment of serenity, of peace, and now everything is being stripped away and she doesn’t understand_ why _._

 

_“You did this to her.”_

 

_A low, deep voice resonates in the room without warning. Clarke’s head snaps to the side and she sees him._

 

_Titus. Standing next to the bed with a grim look on his face. His eyes travel from Lexa’s wound to Clarke’s face, and Clarke can see the same tears that are burning behind her eyes struggling to escape from his._

 

_“Love is weakness,” he says. Then his face hardens. “You killed her.”_

 

_Clarke has no idea what he is talking about, when suddenly she feels a heavy weight in her left hand. Cold fear spreads through her veins. She doesn’t want to look, she is terrified to look, but she seems to have no control over it. Her head slowly turns and she finally sees it._

 

_The gun in her hand._

 

_Clarke shakes her head, horrified, refusing to believe any of this is true. But the metal is cold in her hand and smoke is coming out of the barrel and Lexa’s blood is wet against her skin._

 

_“No… No, I didn’t– I couldn’t have…”_

 

_“Yes, you did,” Titus replies to her rambling words. “I asked you to help me protect her, and you didn’t. It is your fault.”_

 

_“No…” She can feel Lexa’s body growing colder, her heartbeat slowing down._

 

_“This is your doing, Wanheda.”_

 

_“No.”_

 

_“You killed Lexa.”_

 

_“NO!”_

 

Clarke’s eyes snap open and she shoots up from her chair, gasping, her heart a hammer against her ribcage. She takes short, ragged breaths, trying and failing to calm down. The blood ringing in her ears only makes her feel dizzier and more confused.

 

It is only when her darting eyes focus on the sleeping figure on the bed next to her that she finally regains awareness of her surroundings, of reality. Lexa isn’t bleeding out, she isn’t dying in Clarke’s arms, _because of Clarke_. She is asleep, recovering. Alive.

 

A nightmare. It was just a nightmare.

 

She passes a hand on her face, rubbing away the sweat and the remnants of her dream, forcing herself to take deeper breaths. Eventually her heartbeat starts slowing down, and exhaling deeply, Clarke flops down against the seat back, feeling slowly calmer with each breath. Calmer, but not relieved. If anything, the regained clarity of mind is accompanied by an increasing distress.

 

It is not fair.

 

Those memories that she had wanted to treasure, that were supposed to give her hope, that were supposed to be a promise of something even more beautiful, are damaged now. Tainted by the awful events of merely an hour later. She should have been able to remember this day and smile, instead now she feels like she will never be able to wash away the sticky feeling of Lexa’s blood on her hands, to stop Lexa’s screams from ringing in her ears. To remember this day as anything other than the day she almost lost Lexa.

 

Rubbing a hand on the back of her neck, stiff after falling asleep on the uncomfortable chair, Clarke can’t stifle the groan that leaves her mouth when the dull soreness in her nape spreads rapidly down her shoulders and back. 

 

She aches all over. Her muscles sting and her bones feel ready to crack when she eventually takes courage and stretches widely, but she doesn’t care. Pain keeps her awake, it helps her focus, and she definitely doesn’t want to enter dreamland again.

 

One glance at the bed in front of her and a different sort of pain stirs up inside her; a pain that makes her throat clog up and her chest tighten.

 

Lexa is alive, yes, but at what price. 

 

Clarke looks at her, and the grounder looks nothing like the proud, strong woman Clarke has grown to know, respect and care about. As she lies there, unconscious, Lexa resembles more a ghost than a living human being.

 

Despite the new blood bag attached to her arm, her usually tanned skin has lost all its color, creating an even starker contrast with the dark circles around her eyes. The baby hairs just beneath her hairline have stuck to the top of her forehead, still covered with a thin line of sweat. The sheets and furs cover her only from the waist down, leaving her torso exposed but for the bandages wrapped all around her. And on her side, a much thicker bundle of gauzes, there to keep in place the awful tube Clarke pushed inside her chest.

 

Lexa’s features, twisted in agony merely hours earlier, are now relaxed, free of pain, but it is a little comfort to Clarke. She looks so helpless lying there; sadness and guilt wash over Clarke, because she is the reason this happened to Lexa in the first place. Titus shot her, but his target wasn’t Lexa: it was Clarke.

 

It is so wearying. To be constantly followed by pain and death.

 

Clarke exhales heavily and her eyes travel down from Lexa’s face to her hand. Those slender fingers were interlaced with hers just hours ago. They had gently pushed Clarke’s hair out of her eyes. They had caressed her back and cradled her face.

 

It is instinctively that Clarke reaches forward, to cover Lexa’s hand with her own.

 

She never touches it, though. A voice startles her and makes her retract abruptly.

 

“Am I interrupting something?”

 

Clarke whips her head towards the entrance of the room and there, she finds Octavia. Arms crossed, leaning against the doorstep, an unreadable look on her face.

 

“No, I just– I…” Clarke scrambles with the words, working to find some quick excuse, but it isn’t long before she realizes she doesn’t really care about what Octavia might think. Her friend held her while she was falling apart in front of everyone anyway. Working on an excuse is pointless: Octavia is not stupid, and Clarke is simply exhausted. So instead, she just sighs and falls quiet. 

 

“Well,” Octavia says, breaking the silence after several moments. “This was definitely an unexpected turn of events.”

 

Clarke doesn’t know if she is talking about the attempted assassination or the telling scene she walked in on. Either way, Clarke refrains from commenting and stays quiet. That is, until she hears Octavia’s next words.

 

“Gotta say, you really went out of your way to find an excuse to stay.”

 

“Float you, Octavia,” Clarke growls with a low voice, unable to restrain herself. After everything that happened, she really doesn’t have enough patience to tolerate Octavia’s snarky, distasteful remarks. One angry glare at her is enough to shut her friend up. 

 

She is ready to shoot back at whatever Octavia is going to tell her, but instead her friend surprises her: she slowly steps closer to Clarke and gives her an apologetic look. Definitely not what Clarke expected, knowing how fiery Octavia can be, but the slight hint of annoyance hidden behind her eyes is enough for Clarke to recognize her friend.

 

“It’s been hours, is she out of the woods yet?” Octavia asks after several moments of silence.

 

“We can’t really know until she wakes up, but I think so…” Clarke doesn’t know how it is possible, though. Her eyes fall on the tube coming out of Lexa’s chest. She could have died. She _should_ have died, it was the most likely outcome. Most people would have died from the bullet wound, let alone surviving the surgery without anesthesia.

 

She lets her gaze travel to Lexa’s face. She looks so young right now, Clarke finds herself thinking, before grimacing at her own silliness: of course she looks young, she _is_ young. Clarke never asked Lexa how old she is, but she imagines they cannot be separated by more than a couple of years of age. And yet, Lexa wears the Commander’s title, she bears the burden that comes with it with a strength Clarke rarely has seen, even in older or more experienced leaders. Clarke has felt on her skin how eroding that burden can be, physically, mentally, and spiritually, and Lexa has been going through this for much longer than she has. It leaves her feeling a mixture of amazement and profound sadness for the grounder.

 

A small squeeze on her shoulder takes her out of her thoughts. She looks up and her eyes meet Octavia’s, unexpectedly warm and supportive.

 

“You fixed her, Clarke. You did good.” Clarke blinks, taken aback by Octavia’s surprising gentleness. It almost brings a small smile to her face. Almost. Because then, Octavia’s eyes hardens, and Clarke gets the proof her instinct was right to doubt Octavia’s kindness.

“Now it’s time to do good for Arkadia.”

 

At that, the anger Clarke had managed to keep at bay only minutes ago becomes impossible to suppress, and an irate huff tumbles from her lips.

 

“You’re unbelievable.”

 

“No, _you_ are unbelievable, Clarke!” Octavia snaps back immediately. “I don’t even recognize you anymore! What happened to the girl who was always ready to step up and do what was right for her people?”

 

That’s it. The last straw that makes what was left of Clarke’s patience disappear into thin air. Her eyes bear into Octavia’s before jerking her shoulder away from her hand.

 

“Maybe she got tired of hearing that everything she’s doing is not enough.”

 

Clarke sees it immediately, it is written all over Octavia’s face: the surprise. She wasn’t expecting Clarke to answer like that at all. But Clarke doesn’t care about her friend’s dismay; if anything it stirs even more anger inside of her. Everyone is so used to her apologizing for everything: people asking her for a solution and then blaming her when things go wrong. Not this time.

 

“This is what you told me when we were in Mt. Weather, isn’t it, Octavia? So yeah, I did more. I pulled that lever and killed everyone inside that mountain to save our people. And it _broke_ me.” She wants her words to be strong, heated, to affect Octavia. And yet, she finds herself having to pause for a moment, to collect herself. Four months have passed, and the vise around her heart is still there, squeezing and hurting whenever she has to talk about what she did. “To save our people, I made a choice that broke me. And still… it wasn’t enough.”

 

“Look, I know you’re–“

 

“No, you don’t know what it feels like, Octavia!” Clarke cuts her off. “And I’m happy you don’t. I wouldn’t want that for anyone.”

 

Octavia opens her mouth again, but Clarke doesn’t let her even begin. “You don’t know what it’s like to sacrifice your morals, time and time again. To be forced to become a monster. You don’t know…” She almost chokes around the lump that has suddenly formed in her throat. With everything she did, everything she went through after making the choice to pull that lever, this is still one of the things that hurt the most. 

 

“You don’t know what it feels like to have the one person who offered you forgiveness turn against you and blame you like everyone else.”

 

Octavia’s eyes falls close at that. It is immediately clear to her what Clarke is talking about. _Who_.

 

“Bellamy.”

 

Clarke nods, feeling her eyes suddenly burning. Bellamy’s harsh, unforgiving words are still clear in her mind, they still hurt like a fresh wound. She frowns, blinking repeatedly: she refuses to cry, she doesn’t have enough energy for it.

 

“He blames me for leaving.” 

 

Octavia never replies to her whisper, though. Clarke searches her face, even more surprised to see that the younger girl isn’t looking at her. But when, after taking in a long breath, Octavia finally meets her eyes, it all becomes clear to Clarke. 

 

Octavia agrees with Bellamy. 

 

If she was angry earlier, now Clarke is simply _done_. Done with what everyone thinks, with everyone judging her actions, with everyone blaming her. She blames herself enough already.

 

“He also said that people die when I’m charge. It’s funny, coming from him, don’t you think?”

 

She isn’t proud of how spiteful her words come out, but she isn’t ashamed either. If anything, she even feels a fickle of satisfaction building up in her stomach when Octavia lowers her gaze. What Bellamy did was indefensible, even his own sister knows it, and yet everyone is quicker to judge her for leaving than to do the same with him for slaughtering an army of innocents.

 

“Okay,” Octavia finally says after an uncomfortable silence. “My brother screwed up big time, I know that. But that’s why you need to come back with me. Clarke, he listens to you.”

 

“Last time he didn’t,” Clarke simply replies. “He handcuffed me and was going to hand me to Pike.”

 

Octavia shakes her head. “No, now it’s different. With the blockade enforced, Arkadia won’t last a week. Unless they attack directly the grounders, and we both know there’s no way they’re gonna win if that happens. Bellamy is being blinded by Pike. He just needs someone to show him the right path again.”

 

If the situation wasn’t so desperate, Clarke would almost laugh at that. She remembers words very similar to Octavia’s, words of hope and confidence uttered by herself barely two weeks ago, right after finding out the atrocity her own people had committed. She had been so sure that talking with Bellamy would work. So sure, and so naive. She doesn’t have that confidence anymore. She is not even sure she has the will.

 

“And it has to be me, right?” She whispers through gritted teeth, causing Octavia to explode.

 

“Goddamn it, Clarke! Arkadia is your home!”

 

“Is it really?”

 

The silence that drops in the room is deafening. If Octavia was surprised before, Clarke’s question is completely bewildering. These were doubts Clarke had never expressed out loud. They had just kept simmering inside of her. Letting them out is surprisingly scary and relieving at the same time.

 

“No… The Ark was my home. Then my father was executed, and it became a prison. “ The image of her father smiling, right before being ejected into the cold darkness of space, still burns like a torch inside Clarke’s mind. It is still one of her most recurrent nightmares. Just talking about it forces her to rub her face, to hide the tears and try to shake away the memory.

 

“Then we came down here, and I thought… I thought it would be my chance for a new start. But the Dropship was nothing more than a stronghold to defend, the only thing protecting us from death. And it burned to the ground.” 

 

_I burned it to the ground_ , she thinks but she doesn’t say.

 

“Camp Jaha? I was there for such a short amount of time that I barely remember what it looks like. I would hardly call it a home.”

 

“Camp Jaha is gone, Clarke. Arkadia–“

 

“Arkadia is just the same but with a different name.” Clarke knows that for Octavia is different, for anyone who lives there it is different. They watched that place grow, evolve. But she was never part of that change. “The only thing that changed for me is that now I feel even more out of place there.”

 

“And here?” Octavia counters, arching a brow. “It’s different here?”

 

Clarke breathes in, slowly, trying to think of a way to voice what she feels. It is a hard challenge, given that she isn’t sure herself. She doesn’t think she is ready to call Polis her home, but something about that place, about that tower, makes her feel safe and at peace in a way she hadn’t felt since her days on the Ark. 

 

“Here… Here I feel I can breathe.”

 

The weight of Clarke’s words echoes in the room. This is something she hasn’t shared with anyone yet, something that deep inside she even feels ashamed of. She shouldn’t be looking for this relief, for this serenity, not after everything she has done. But she knows that if there is one person on the Ground who can understand this feeling she is trying to describe, that is Octavia.

 

And indeed, her friend proves her right. Octavia sighs softly and looks at the ceiling for a moment, before setting her eyes back on Clarke. There isn’t sympathy to be found in them, but instead _understanding_.

 

“When I met Lincoln, I felt the same way. For the first time in my life I felt free, I felt… home.” She pauses, and Clarke is surprised to see her lips quiver slightly. Clarke has done and has been through real horrors, but she cannot imagine what Octavia’s life might have been like on the Ark. Living in constant fear, having her mother executed and then being locked up just for existing. Yes. Octavia understands what it feels like to crave a home and freedom.

 

“Before the grounders attacked the Dropship, he asked me to run away with him,” Octavia continues, clenching her jaw to put a stop to the trembling. “And believe me Clarke, every part of me wanted to say yes. But I couldn’t.” Clarke knows exactly what she is about to say before she even utters the words.

 

“I couldn’t leave my people to die.”

 

Clarke knew it was coming, but her stomach still churns painfully. She presses her forehead against her head, trying to shake away the nausea and the painful throbbing in her temples. It is something she thought she had become used to, the constant migraine. The only brief respite she had found from it had been exactly there, in Polis. But now Octavia’s words have awakened the pain again.

 

“I stayed even if I didn’t want to,” Octavia presses her. “It was the right thing to do. I know you understand that.”

 

And Clarke does understand. This is everything she has been telling herself all this time. “ _I cannot leave my people. The right thing to do_.” Things she said to herself over and over, often to justify atrocities. A genocide, the massacre of three-hundred sleeping people. She has been asking herself if everything she did was worth it too, though. If peace is nothing more than an abstract concept, an unachievable dream that leads only to more death, what is the point of keeping trying? Why does she keep fighting? Only once she has received an answer to the question she had never even asked out loud.

 

_“That’s why you’re you.”_

 

“You were going to leave before this…” Octavia gestures to Lexa, taking Clarke out of her thoughts, “happened. So I know. Just like I knew what I had to do back then, I know you know what you have to do now.”

 

Octavia’s words settle beneath Clarke’s skin, and she wishes she had a way to fight the influence they are having on her, but she finds herself failing. 

 

“I’m just so tired, Octavia,” is all that she can say. All the energy she had seems to have drained completely from her body.

 

“We all are. But I know you. And I know that you won’t let another war start just because you’re tired.” She pauses for a moment, before setting her jaw. The lines of her face are hard, but not as hard and unforgiving as her next words. 

 

“That you won’t abandon the people who love you to a certain death.”

 

Clarke had been avoiding Octavia’s gaze as if it had the power to burn through her, but when she hears those words, the implication behind them, her eyes shoot up to Octavia’s face. There is a brief second of shock that leaves her petrified; she never would have thought Octavia would stoop this low. But she quickly realizes how stupid her reaction was. She shouldn’t be surprised. Just like Clarke, Octavia learned from the world they live in. And no one is above anything in this world. No one is innocent. 

 

“And here I thought I was the manipulative one,” she says, letting out a mirthless laugh. It does nothing to faze Octavia. She merely shrugs at Clarke’s snide retort.

 

“If it works and convinces you, then I don’t care. Pike put Lincoln in a cage just for being a grounder. He’s a dictator, Clarke. What do you think will happen to who tries to defy him?”

 

Clarke’s throat locks up, choking down even that grim chuckle. She knows who Octavia is talking about. There is no way her mother and Kane are going to watch Pike lead Arkadia to destruction without trying to do something. And she knows exactly how he is going to react. Octavia told her about Pike’s speech after the massacre.

 

_“Resist, and you will be met by force. Fight, and you will be greeted by death.”_

 

This is what had made her choose to go back in the first place. That fear and concern. And they are still there, screaming at her to do what she knows is right. But almost losing Lexa drained her. That is the heart of the matter. She feels as if someone carved a hole inside her chest, and all the strength and energy she had left just poured out from it, leaving her with nothing but exhaustion in her bones and terror in her mind.

 

“What do you expect me to do?” Clarke asks barely above a whisper.

 

“I don’t know, but the Clarke I know will not sit back and let people die. Not without a reason.”

 

Clarke’s eyes fall close at Octavia’s choice of words. They sting and cut, make her head hurt with the memory of people screaming, desperately running away, trying to collect their lost limbs. Four months since Tondc burned, but those two-hundred-fifty ghosts still come to haunt her during her sleep sometimes.

 

Octavia is right, though. There was a reason behind that sacrifice; it is the only thing that gives her the smallest amount of comfort. But if Arkadia were to fall, if her mother and Kane and her friends were to die in a war that she could have stopped, Clarke would never be able to live with herself. The thought alone is unbearable. Just as unbearable as leaving Lexa, defenseless and close to the man who tried to kill her.

 

“If you haven’t forgotten who you are yet,” Octavia straightening up and starting to walk away shakes Clarke out of her considerations, “you will follow me. I leave with Indra tomorrow before the sun rises. It is too late to avoid the blockade, but she knows how to get us behind it.”

 

Even with all the turmoil happening in her mind and heart, a thought suddenly hits Clarke.

 

“What about Murphy?”

 

Octavia stops in her tracks and turns around, rolling her eyes as she snorts.

 

“Yeah, if the string of curses he left out when I untied him is of any indication, I don’t think he’s planning on coming with us. He muttered something about having to find ‘the one decent person on the stupid Ground’, before storming out of the room. How did he even end up here in the first place?”

 

Clarke just shrugs, not having an answer. She was just as surprised as Octavia to find him tied up in her room, battered and bruised.

 

“Whatever,” Octavia shakes her head. “He’s Murphy. He’ll survive. It’s not him I care about right now.”

 

Clarke pushes a heavy breath into her lungs, feeling all her worries crushing down on her again. Octavia won’t allow her a single moment of respite. She looks at her friend, at the hard lines of her face, and she knows she will find no sympathy there. No understanding if she were to make this choice with her heart. She doesn’t know why, but suddenly she feels the prickling burn of tears demanding to escape from her eyes. She thought she had run out of tears after breaking down in the infirmary, but now she realizes this isn’t the case.

 

Steeling herself is not as easy as she thought it would be, and Octavia notices it. She sees the reddening of Clarke’s eyes, the way her jaw is starting to tremble.

 

And for the shortest moment, her eyes soften.

 

“I know this is unfair. I understand wanting to be free, more than anyone else ever could.” Clarke knows it is true. “But our fight isn’t over yet.”

 

And just like that, the warrior is back. “We do what must be done, and then _maybe…_ maybe we can finally have peace.”

 

Clarke wishes she could reply, that she could find the strength in her to argue, to say that they had achieved peace, and Skaikru ruined everything. But she finds no use in it. She cannot change the past. She knows it, Octavia knows it. And when Octavia points at Lexa and speaks again, Clarke knows she never really had a choice to begin with.

 

“She is willing to do anything for her people. You shouldn't be at her side if you aren’t ready to do the same.”

 

Clarke plants her short fingernails into her palm, with enough strength to punch through the skin. She needs that pain to distract her. It is the only thing that will stop her from starting to sob again.

 

She hears Octavia walk away, but does nothing about it. Her head slumps on her chest, her body hunched forward, eyes focused on nothing. She doesn’t understand how someone can feel so deeply and utterly consumed, and not drop down dead on the spot. 

 

Is it her sins that are keeping her alive? The obligation to atone for everything she did before she is allowed rest. Is it the irony of fate? The healer turned killer. Someone that was supposed to stop death and instead keeps causing it. A paradox so abhorrent that it makes her undeserving of peace. Something else she has not figured out yet?

 

“She has quite the sharp tongue.”

 

Clarke’s head shoots up when she hears the raspy, hoarse whisper. She is greeted by the sight of green eyes staring right back at her. Bleary, half-lidded, darker than the usual green with shades of silver Clarke is used to. But nonetheless bright. Shining with life.

 

It is a sight that pulls a strangled gasp from her throat, and her heart clenches before expanding and expanding until it feels her chest will burst with it. It hurts, but it is the best pain she has ever felt in her life. When Lexa’s name falls from her lips, and she sees Lexa’s mouth curve into the smallest hint of a smile, Clarke has an answer to her question.

 

It is definitely something else.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thoughts? Feelings? Go! Scream in the comments or on Tumblr at @hedawolf :)


	3. Chapter 3

“You’re– you’re awake.”

 

Clarke had told and re-told herself that the worst had passed and that Lexa was out of the woods, but during all those hours she had spent sitting next to the grounder, she had never stopped being scared. Scared that something had went wrong, that _she_ had done something wrong during the procedure. That despite all her hard work, Lexa would die anyway.

 

It is only when Lexa gives her one raspy “I am.” in reply that Clarke’s mind wraps around the fact that what she is seeing is true. The beginning of a laughter spills out from her mouth. It is more a choked chuckle than anything else: an involuntary response, a way to release at least some of the tension that had been coiling inside her for so long.

 

Her eyes burn with the sudden surge of emotions, and she squeezes them shut to contain the tears. It is only for a moment, though. She doesn’t want to miss a single second of this.

 

When she re-opens her eyes, reddened and watery despite her best efforts, Lexa is still there, staring back at her.

 

“Clarke.”

 

Despite her voice being so low and husky, the familiar, unique way in which Lexa pronounces Clarke’s name remains unchanged. Lexa says her name like Clarke is the purest thing on Earth, like she is something to be cherished, protected, honored. Just hearing Lexa utter her name like that brings a fresh wave of tears to her eyes. A few of them escape this time, forcing her to rub them away with the back of her hand.

 

“Clarke,” Lexa repeats, and the sound alone pushes a deep, shuddering sigh out of Clarke’s throat. When she meets Lexa’s eyes again, they are full of tenderness and understanding and reassurance.

 

“You’re alive.”

 

Lexa only gives one nod, but it is enough to make it real. Enough to make Clarke’s heartbeat slow down into calmness, enough to fill her with utter relief and… happiness. A happiness she hadn’t experience in ages, it feels.

 

“Thanks to you,” Lexa says, and before Clarke can stop her, she tries to lift herself up, only to groan at the sudden stab of pain in her side.

 

“Hey, hey, hey!” Clarke shoots from the chair immediately and presses a hand on Lexa’s shoulder, gently making her lie down again. “Don’t try to move yet, it’s too soon.”

 

“How long have I been unconscious?” Lexa asks with a wince, noticing the darkness of the room and trying to twist her head to look outside the window to figure out the time.

 

“Several hours. It’s–“ Clarke pushes Lexa back down with a firmer hand when the grounder tries to move again. “It’s late night.”

 

Defeated, Lexa sags back down on the mattress. Her eyebrows curve into a frown, and the hiss that escapes from between her gritted teeth ignites deep worry inside Clarke. 

 

“How are you feeling? Are you having problems breathing? Are you in a lot of pain?” she asks concerned, cupping Lexa’s face with a hand and moving a finger in front of Lexa’s eyes to check her response.

 

“It isn’t pleasant,” Lexa breathes out, “but I’m fine.”

 

“Are you sure? You don’t have to lie to me. If you feel any–“

 

“Clarke,” Lexa says again, harder. It is only when Lexa places her palm over the hand Clarke is holding against her cheek that Clarke snaps out of her momentary panic. She blinks slowly, letting the soft touch calm her, and after searching Lexa’s eyes she realizes the grounder is not lying when she repeats “I’m _fine_.”

 

Clarke inhales a heavy breath, a breath that is then released in short, stuttered fragments. She has no doubt that Lexa is feeling all kinds of uncomfortable. She still remembers waking up in Camp Jaha after escaping Mount Weather with Anya: the pounding in the back of her head had been close to unbearable, the throbbing in her arm where the bullet had grazed her had tormented her for hours. And that was just a flesh wound. She knows for a fact that the aches in Lexa’s body must be far worse. But she also knows that Lexa wouldn’t lie to her.

 

“ _I’m fine_ ” doesn’t mean Lexa is not hurting. It means “ _It is something I can handle, you don’t need to worry._ ” Lexa’s consideration and care for how she feels are sweet and yet scary. She almost died, and she is the one reassuring Clarke. It should be the opposite. Lexa should be free to whine and groan and complain about how everything hurts. But Clarke knows she won’t; years of being conditioned to conceal any discomfort, any _weakness_ , combined with her concern for Clarke, tells her that Lexa will not reveal anything more about the true extent of her pain. But she also knows that Lexa is smart, and that she won’t hide anything serious just to be stubborn. All Clarke can do is trust Lexa.

 

And she does.

 

Clarke nods more to convince herself than to reply to the grounder. _She is fine. She is fine._

 

_“_ Sorry,” she says, flopping back down on the chair.

 

“Why?” Lexa asks, an eyebrow lifting up in confusion. “I owe you my life. Why are you apologizing?”

 

Clarke opens her mouth but words fail her. Maybe she is just used to apologizing for everything. One quick glance at Lexa’s bandaged chest, though, and she remembers where the guilt, the overwhelming need to apologize come from.

 

“That bullet was meant for me. You almost died because of me.”

 

“I almost died because Titus shot me. It is not your fault, Clarke,” Lexa replies. Her voice is drowsy and hoarse with tiredness and all the screaming, but unwavering in the certainty of her words.

 

At the mention of Titus, hot rage starts burning again inside Clarke’s chest.

 

“He should die for what he did,” Clarke snarls with a low voice.

 

“Where is he now?”

 

Clarke’s jaw locks tightly when she thinks about the events that had followed her breakdown. She had ordered the guards to arrest him for attempting on Heda’s life, and they had done nothing.

 

“In the temple, maybe? I don’t know. He should be dead.”

 

Lexa just gives a low hum in response. Trying to move her head as less as possible, both not to put a strain on her already weak body and to not anger Clarke by ignoring her words to stay down, she glances around the empty room.

 

“What about the natblida?”

 

Clarke’s forehead scrunches up in bewilderment. “They’re… I send them back to their quarters to rest. I’m sorry, but why aren’t you more upset about Titus?”

 

When Lexa fails to answer, a silent question in her eyes, Clarke just scoffs, not understanding how Lexa could stay so unbothered.

 

“I told your guards what happened, and they didn’t arrest him. Lexa, he tried to kill you! You’re the Commander, he should be in a cell, waiting to be executed.”

 

Realization washes over Lexa once Clarke explains the reasons for her anger. She swallows heavily and lets out a low sigh, already knowing that Clarke will not accept her explanation without protesting.

 

“He is the Flamekeeper, Clarke. His purpose is too important for him to be executed.”

 

And indeed, Clarke’s eyes go wide with shock.

 

“What the hell is that supposed to mean? He’s not above the law!”

 

“Guarding the spirit of the Commander is above anything.”

 

Clarke’s brain starts working to decode Lexa’s cryptic words. Swallowing back the nausea that comes with the memory, she replays the moment Lexa was bleeding out on her bed. The image of Titus laying down a set of surgical instruments next to Lexa’s body appears vividly.

 

_“My spirit… Titus needs to pass it on…”_

 

Lexa’s words resonate loud and clear. Clarke remembers how confused they had left her. It is the exact same confusion she is feeling right now. And just like before, with everything that happened, receiving an explanation is the least of her concerns.

 

“Look,” she shakes her head. “I don’t know what this Flame is, and why he needed a damn scalpel to prepare you for reincarnation, but right now I don’t care. I care about what he did.”

 

Her words are firm, unapologetic. “He tried to kill me. He almost killed _you_. How can you be this calm?”

 

Clarke feels an uncomfortable tightening in her throat when she sees Lexa’s eyes darken with profound sadness. She knows it has little to do with her almost death and everything to do with Titus trying to harm Clarke.

 

“I should have protected you, Clarke,” Lexa whispers after a moment of silence, confirming Clarke’s suspicion. “I promised you’d be safe here, and you weren’t.” She lowers her gaze, and Clarke’s heart breaks when she realizes it is because she is ashamed of what happened.

 

“No, it’s not… I don’t care that Titus shot at me.” 

 

When the only reply she gets is that jaw tic she has seen Lexa do every time she is upset, Clarke leans forward and rests a hand on the grounder’s knee.

 

The muscles in Lexa’s thigh twitch in response to the unexpected touch, and when finally Lexa timidly looks up again, it is easy for Clarke to read the surprise in her eyes. It is something she has noticed before. Something she had definitely noticed hours earlier, when they were lying in bed together. Lexa is so unused to being touched in a gentle manner, that even a gesture as simple as a hand on her knee takes her aback.

“Now it’s your turn to believe me when I say I’m fine, okay?” Clarke says with no hesitation, making sure Lexa cannot doubt her words. Lexa’s throat visibly bobs, Clarke doesn’t know whether because of her words or her thumb brushing against Lexa’s leg.

 

“He will never harm you again, Clarke. I give you my word,” Lexa finally finds her voice again, but despite the certainty of her words, her voice sounds even croakier and more strained than before. She is pained and she feels guilty, Clarke knows it. They are so similar when it comes to this: so ready to blame themselves for everything. For a brief moment, Clarke finds herself wondering about what would have happened if Titus hadn’t missed his original mark. How Lexa would have dealt with her death, especially after the words and promises they had exchanged in bed.

 

But then Lexa speaks again, and Clarke’s thoughts, much like her hand on Lexa’s leg, freeze entirely.

 

“I will take care of it once you’ve left with Octavia.”

 

The momentary surprise dissolves when she replays in her mind the first words she had heard coming out of Lexa’s mouth. _“She has quiet the sharp tongue.”_ The whirlwind of emotions that had rushed through her at the realization that Lexa was alive had distracted her. But now that she has regained some focus, the implications behind those words aren’t lost to her anymore.

 

“How long have you been awake for?” she asks, suddenly tenser. “Were you listening the whole time?”

 

Lexa shakes her head. “I regained consciousness only moments before you and Octavia finished talking. You didn’t notice and I didn’t wish to interrupt.”

 

Silence lingers between them after that confession. Clarke narrows her eyes and finds herself stiffening. She doesn’t know why, but she suddenly feels heavy again. Drawing away from Lexa doesn’t feel right, especially after glancing at her and seeing the flash of hurt in her eyes, but Clarke cannot help herself. 

 

She slumps back in her chair, throat and chest tight to the point of pain. “Looks like I have no way to avoid this, uh?” Her voice is grainy, resigned, and the thick sigh that escapes from her lips only seems to weigh her down more.

 

“It’s too important, Clarke,” Lexa simply murmurs. She doesn’t try to reach for Clarke again, despite yearning to. Lexa is a mystery most of the time, but there are moments when Clarke is able to read her with impressive ease. And she has no doubt right now. She isn’t the only one uncomfortable with this conversation, the only one who’d rather pretend that nothing happened, that nothing has to change. But Lexa never had the luxury of being free to avoid responsibilities, to hide in a bubble. It is something she has never known, so there is no way she can encourage Clarke with it.

 

The reality of her situation washes over Clarke again, even more intensely now that it is Lexa reminding her. That deep sense of dread builds in the pit of her stomach, looming and inevitable, and she finds herself frightened by it. So she retreats in herself, shaking her head and tormenting the cuticles around her fingernails.

 

“You’ve just woken up, we shouldn’t be talking about this at all. You need to rest,” Clarke says, trying to change the topic. 

 

“And you need to stop running away from this discussion, Clarke,” Lexa counters immediately. Clarke’s eyes are solidly fixed on her hands in her lap, but she can feel Lexa’s stare bearing into her.

 

“What if that’s exactly what I want to do, though?” she eventually asks with a gruff. “What if I’m just tired of feeling like I constantly owe something to everyone?”

 

Somehow she finds the strength to look up and meet Lexa’s eyes again. She had expected to find judgement in them, at her blatant display of cowardice. The gentle understanding she sees there instead, takes her by surprise. It really shouldn’t have: out of all the people in her life, Lexa is the only one Clarke can’t recall having judged her once.

 

“It’s not about owing them, Clarke. It’s not about them at all. It’s about _you_.” She pauses briefly. “About who you are.” The corner of her mouth curls up in the hint of a smile, and Clarke knows exactly what the grounder is thinking about. That almost unsealed confession, right before Clarke pulled her into a kiss. She instinctively bites her lip, recalling Lexa’s taste in her mouth, how heady that kiss had made her, how she had wished she could freeze time and make that moment last forever, leaving them alone while everything else slipped away.

 

“You had already made your choice, Clarke.” Lexa’s voice shatters her train of thought. That small smile is gone and a veil of sadness and resignation clouds her green eyes instead. “Don’t let what happened influence you.”

 

“How can you ask me that?” Clarke hisses through clenched teeth. Her tone is sharp, excessively violent, but Lexa’s words cut through her: they afflict her heart with their truth and their absurdity. Lexa is right, she had made her choice. She had chosen to put her people first and had promised to come back to Lexa after.

 

But that was before. Before she felt the slippery warmth of Lexa’s blood on her hands. Before she saw tanned skin turn deadly pale. Before her eardrums were ripped open by horrifying, anguished screams.

 

Before she reached complete awareness that, had Lexa’s heart stopped beating, her own would have done the same.

 

Clarke wishes she could believe Lexa is simply blind to this; that a naivety of sorts is preventing her from understanding why Clarke is struggling with this decision, why choosing whether or not to leave is now even more dreadful than earlier. But she studies Lexa’s face, the faint narrowing of her eyes, the twitch in the corner of her mouth, the subtle swallowing movement of her throat. She is trying to harden herself. She is trying to hide behind the Commander, to lift her walls of ice, the walls that had always protected her heart. But it is useless. Clarke sees through her, she always has. 

 

And it is so easy for her to recognize the sorrowful quiver in Lexa’s voice when she eventually says “Your people need you.”

 

Words meant to be austere, detached, uncompromising. All Clarke hears is a sad girl’s plea. 

 

Her throat burns and itches with that realization, an acute feeling impossible to ignore. Challenged in its intensity only by the tussling of her heart in her chest. Both stinging, uncomfortable sensations, but originating from two different emotions. Sadness, and anger. And it is anger that prevails and rowdily makes its way out of Clarke’s mouth.

 

“My people need me because they chose to follow someone who only understands violence and hate. They _chose_ to start another war.”

 

“Are you giving up on them?”

 

There is no judgement in Lexa’s voice. Her words are impactful, ruthless almost in their simplicity. But that is how truth is: raw and plain and difficult to ignore when thrown in your face. Lexa doesn’t tell her what to do, she doesn’t try to influence her. She merely presents facts the way they are. And it is more hard-hitting than Octavia’s manipulation attempts ever could be.

 

She is. Staying in Polis equals to abandoning her people. As mad as she is because of what they did, because of what they allowed to happen, she knows deep down that she could never forgive herself if something happened to them. But the prospect of leaving, of going against her desires just to save them, and not succeed, is as equally frightening. If her sacrifice ended up leading only to failure and more death, she doesn’t think she could come back from that.

 

“It’s just… everything I do feels pointless.” She slouches forward, elbows resting on knees. She presses her face against her hands for a moment, somehow hoping to find shelter from her worries in that restricted space. With her eyes closed, hiding away in that temporary darkness, a grim thought that had been lingering in her mind for so long–since she set foot on the Ground she thinks sometimes–resurfaces and strives to be released. 

 

The words slither out of her mouth before she even realizes it. “Maybe it would have been better if we’d just died on the Ark.”

 

Clarke looks up again, and even in the dim light she doesn’t miss the way Lexa’s eyes have grown wider with surprise. They are dark and searching, trying to figure out how much of what Clarke said comes from misery and exhaustion, and how much is actually true. The grounder instinctively moves a couple inches towards the edge of the bed, closer to Clarke, before shaking her head once.

 

“I know you don’t really believe that, Clarke.”

 

She hears the certainty in Lexa’s voice, sees in her eyes the unyielding faith that she keeps having in Clarke, for reasons she don’t understand. But bleakness seems to have encased her from the inside, and whatever Lexa sees in her is invisible to her.

 

“Don’t I?” she just says with a shrug. Lexa doesn’t reply, giving Clarke the time and opportunity to voice her inner torments. A rich silence draws out between them for several moments, before Clarke sighs out a ragged breath and keeps going.

 

“Ever since I landed on the Ground, I’ve been surrounded by violence and death.” Her eyes move away from Lexa to stare blankly into nothing. She is aware of what she is saying, but everything sounds like a dull echo in the back of her mind. She doesn’t focus on her words, she just lets them flow out of her, lets them bring to light fears and doubts and troubles. 

 

It starts with the recollection of Bellamy’s words. _“We’ve been at war since we landed.”_ A thought she had tried to ignore but that had kept bleeding inside her mind, like an open wound.

 

“I came down here, and I’ve been constantly fighting ever since. I’ve lost battles, I’ve won wars.” A humorless chuckle makes its way out of her throat. “I became a legend. And despite that, I am…powerless.”

 

Saying it out loud for the first time is jarring and uncomfortable and almost overwhelming, but now that she has started talking, she can’t seem to stop. She has a feeling that, if she tried to bottle everything up again, she could very well implode.

 

“I try and try but people I love keep dying, keep…” She glances at the bandages wrapped around Lexa’s chest. “Keep getting hurt.”

 

If she had raised her stare only slightly, she probably would have noticed the flush spreading on Lexa’s neck after her words, but she remains blind to it. Because her voice cracks around the last word, and her eyes suddenly are prickling again. The terror of almost losing Lexa is still so fresh; it scratches at the inside of her throat and knots her stomach painfully, and she wonders if she’ll ever forget the smell and feel of Lexa’s blood on her hands.

 

She sucks in a shuddering breath, scrunching her face in a silly attempt at keeping the tears at bay. She had never been ashamed of crying, had always considered it a liberating act. But now, after having cried so much she feels no more tears can possibly be left in her body, now it is merely draining.

 

“If I can’t stop bad things from happening, why do I even keep fighting?”

 

She asks the question she had never dared to ask, the question she had always been ashamed of. The answer she gets is a pale, slender hand reaching for her own and brushing against its back.

 

Clarke looks up, surprised by the unexpected touch, and Lexa’s eyes are like a forest at sunset. Warm, welcoming. Beautiful.

 

“That’s what good people do, Clarke.” 

 

Those few words ignite an army of feelings inside Clarke. Her heart throbs in her chest and hums in her ears, and she is on the verge of crying again, but for a whole different reason. She has been described in many ways since she fell from the sky. Smart, brave, strong. Terrifying, deadly. Monstrous. But she cannot remember the last time someone simply called her _good_.

 

She thinks this is one of the things that make Lexa so unique, so special. She can convey so much using so few words. But those words she chooses propagate inside the mind and settle inside the heart, taking root there and becoming almost impossible to eradicate. Clarke wishes she had the same ability, wishes she could find a better way to express what she feels than staring agape at Lexa with wet eyes. 

 

But Lexa isn’t just tender touches and soft words. She is determination, responsibilities. As beautiful as a forest at sunset can be, it can also be scary. And so are her next words.

 

“That’s what leaders do.”

 

Just like that, Clarke is drawn back into her dilemma, she is reminded that she cannot hide forever. 

 

Her throat feels like sandpaper when she swallows around the lump that seems to have been permanently lodged there.

 

“I never asked for this,” she whispers huskily. Lexa stays unblinking for seconds that feel eternal. It is an expression more peculiar to the Commander than to the girl wearing that title, but in those eyes Clarke can still spot the tiredness that Lexa is trying so hard to ignore. 

 

And despite that apparent hardness, the thumb gently ghosting over the back of Clarke’s hand tells a whole different story.

 

“True leaders rarely do, Clarke.” 

 

This is what Lexa is. A puzzle of clashing pieces that together, somehow create something harmonious. A masterpiece in disguise.

 

“You go back to Arkadia, and show your people a better way.” Lexa goes on. A leader offering advice to another leader. But the small smile that brightens her face brings their discussion to a different, more intimate level. They are well beyond just politics when she adds “Like you did with me.”

 

Another peculiarity of Lexa seems to be her capacity to leave Clarke completely speechless. She did it so many times in the past. Stunned Clarke into inability to speak or move or do anything at all. When she kissed her the first time, when she abandoned her at Mount Weather, when she fell on her knees and swore fealty to her, when she agreed to try a life philosophy different from _Jus Drein Jus Daun_. She had known back then. Clarke had known that making that choice would put Lexa in danger, but she had ignored that uneasiness. She had selfishly chosen not to see, to believe that Lexa’s position as the Commander would make her untouchable. But Lexa must have known: she must have known what she was risking, and yet she had chosen to try. For the chance of giving her people a better future, and for Clarke. She had been repaid with a bullet to her chest, and despite that, she was now smiling at Clarke, Clarke who had suggested this in the first place.

 

Lexa’s selflessness has always been admirable and touching to Clarke, but in moments like this she finds herself wishing that the grounder could learn to put herself first for once in her life.

 

“And what about you?” she eventually asks.

 

“What about me?”

 

“You’re injured. You’re hurt, you–“ _You should be free to need me as well_. The words are aching to come out but she stops them.

 

“I’ll be okay, Clarke. I’m safe here.”

 

At the word _safe_ , Clarke cannot help but scoff. “This is where you almost died, Lexa. The man who almost killed you is still in this building.”

 

“Titus won’t hurt me, and my wounds will heal. Nothing will happen to me while you’re gone. You don’t need to worry.”

 

Clarke doesn’t trust a word of what she has just heard. She believes Lexa, she _trusts_ Lexa. But the thought of Titus going anywhere near her after what he did spreads dark rage through her veins. And worse than that, the thought of being away and being powerless to do anything if something were to happen, is enough to tie her stomach in coils and make her feel nauseous.

 

“So you really want me to go?” she murmurs.

 

“I…” Lexa hesitates, and Clarke thinks it is the first time she has seen her do so. She understands the reason only when she hears Lexa’s next words. “I don’t want you to regret staying.”

 

Lexa’s hand goes rigid above Clarke’s with the confession. Clarke is stunned as well, but she puts herself together enough to entwine her fingers with Lexa, giving her a comforting touch to hold on to in a moment of obvious tension. She is not used to seeing Lexa like this: vulnerable, timid, almost scared she is going to say or do the wrong thing. It is the second time in one day Clarke has seen this side of Lexa, and she cannot help but think that there is something incredibly pure and dazzling in this fragility. 

 

“I don’t want you to choose to stay, only to end up resenting that choice, resenting yourself, resenting m–“ She stops, biting her lip, almost like she was reprimanding herself for revealing too much. Clarke’s heart shatters at the thought. Lexa has been so used to repressing her feelings and wishes, taught over and over by mentors and by the cruelty of her world that desires must be suppressed. Even something as simple and innocent as not wanting to be alone.

 

“Lexa…”

 

“I can wait.” Lexa says with a nod. That small smile is back on her face, but it looks more like a camouflage this time. An attempt at stopping the advance of tears that are making her eyes shine. “I will wait… as long as it takes, Clarke. I will–”

 

Clarke has already moved before even being aware of it. She springs forward, so close to leaping on the bed, and crashes her lips against Lexa’s. She clasps her hands behind Lexa’s neck, keeping the grounder close to her. Surprise leaves quickly room for the heat, the need, the love, and Lexa closes her eyes and presses into the kiss with just the same intensity. In the back of her mind Clarke realizes that Lexa is pushing up from the bed, putting strain on her already weak body, so she softens her kiss. It isn’t any less scorching, though. Their lips slide together in a desperate dance, a dance that Clarke wishes could never end. Salty drops mix with Lexa’s flavor, and it takes Clarke a moment before realizing she is tasting her own tears, tears she hadn’t even noticed had started falling. She doesn't care. It is messy and imperfect and even uncomfortable in their twisted position, but Lexa grabs at her arm like she is scared Clarke will disappear, and Clarke never wants to come up for air. She is drunk on Lexa, on her scent and her taste and her touch. She could drown in her forever and never need oxygen again. But the soft, hopeless sighs that vibrate against her lips remind her that ‘forever’ is a luxury denied to them.

 

 “Tell me you don’t want me to go,” Clarke says between throaty whispers once she breaks the kiss. She doesn't pull away and just stays bent over Lexa, panting against her mouth. They are both breathless, but none of the two felt the need to breathe until now that they are apart. 

 

As she tries to catch her breath as well, Lexa slowly opens her heavy eyes, only to find Clarke's tightly shut, a stream of tears falling from behind her lids down her face. The blonde is shaking, and her trembling only increases when Lexa slowly brushes her thumb on her cheek, wiping away the tears.

 

“Clarke…“

 

“Just this one time,” Clarke begs, opening her eyes again. “Forget about everything else and tell me what you want. Please…”

 

For long moments they just gaze into each other’s eyes, red and shiny and vivid. Beauty brought out by sadness. Then Lexa cups Clarke’s wet cheek with her hand, and lets out a shaky sigh, stripping herself of any defense.

 

“I would suffer through getting shot a hundred times over if it meant having one more minute with you.”

 

A broken sob rips from Clarke’s throat at that confession. She presses again her lips against Lexa's, to suffocate the sound. It's a soft caress this time, more similar to the first kiss they had exchanged so long ago. It's a kiss not between two warriors, but between two tender, fragile lovers, and Clarke wants to stay there until they melt together. She can't, though. As much as she wants Lexa's embrace to never end, it cannot happen.

 

“I don’t want to leave you either,” she whispers against Lexa’s lips. 

 

“I know.”

 

“But I can’t abandon them.”

 

“I know.” When Clarke fails to reply, Lexa says it again. “Clarke… I know.”

 

But Clarke can only shake her head, fresh tears threatening to spill from her eyes again. Lexa’s resigned acceptance of their fate mangles at her heart more than any desperate cry ever could. It leaves her unconsolable. But just as Lexa has the power to shatter her to pieces, she also has the power to put her back together.

 

That is what the grounder does when she gently fixes a rebel blond lock behind Clarke’s ear and rests her forehead against Clarke’s.

 

“Remember what we said while we… earlier.” Lexa finishes awkwardly with a timid smirk. Clarke doesn’t miss the blush that colors her cheeks this time, and she thinks she has never seen anything more adorable. The almighty Commander getting flustered while talking about being in bed with a girl. A girl she didn’t even have sex with. 

 

But it is Clarke’s turn to get flustered when Lexa presses the ghost of a kiss on the corner of her mouth and whispers “This isn’t a goodbye.”

 

She remembers perfectly the moment those words had been uttered hours earlier. Lying in bed half clothed, facing each other with their hands laced together. The intimacy of that moment had threatened to overwhelm Clarke, but at the same time she had felt hopeful like she hadn’t felt in ages.

 

She knows Lexa’s choice of words isn’t casual. She knows exactly what the grounder is doing, she understands the sheer magnitude of this seemingly small gesture.

 

Lexa is giving her hope in a hopeless moment.

 

She finds herself leaning back, to fully take in Lexa’s features. Her thumb swipes over the hard ridge of her cheekbone, before the ghost of a whisper instinctively escapes from her throat.

 

“Lexa kom Trikru…”

 

Clarke reads the confusion in Lexa’s eyes as she utters her name, but she doesn’t bother explaining. She wouldn’t even know how to explain why she felt the need to say it. Maybe to see how that name feels on her tongue. Not just a name and a title anymore, but blended with that sentiment that she isn’t ready to admit out loud yet, but that is hidden and sheltered in the deepest part of her heart. That sentiment she cannot pretend is just care anymore.

 

She feels almost dizzy with the power of this realization, and she lets go of Lexa’s face to rub at her eyes, wiping away what was left of her tears too. 

 

“You’re exhausted, Clarke,” Lexa says, noticing her movement. “You should use these hours to rest.” 

 

Clarke almost corrects Lexa, but quickly changes her mind. Lexa’s assumption wasn’t entirely erroneous. Now that Lexa made her notice, she can feel all the tiredness racking her bones again. But she is stubborn, and worried about Lexa, and she refuses to sleep without the certainty that the grounder will do the same.

 

“I’m okay. You’re the one who needs rest.”

 

Lexa just smirks and nods. She doesn’t even try to argue, which Clarke is glad about, because she doesn’t think she has any strength left, not even to bicker over who deserves more rest.

 

“We both could use some,” Lexa merely says, and Clarke nods in agreement, before flopping back on the chair next to the bed. Her body screams in protest but she just ignores it and starts working on trying to find a comfortable position.

 

She has been moving and twisting for a couple of minutes when she finally notices Lexa’s eyes on her, a questioning look on her face. The second she sees the grounder opening her mouth, Clarke stops her before she can even speak.

 

“If I’m gonna rest, I’m gonna do it here.” 

 

She doesn’t leave room for discussion. She just gives one firm look to Lexa, before going back to shifting on the chair.

 

She could groan in relief when she eventually finds a position that doesn’t make her back feel like it is cracking in ten different places. She has just closed her eyes and is ready to finally try to get some sleep, when she hears it.

 

“Clarke?”

 

She opens her eyes again, ready to growl at Lexa to shut up and sleep, but what she sees makes the words die in her throat.

 

Lexa’s face is surprisingly red, there is bashfulness written all over it, and she is shifting with difficulty to the side of the bed, leaving a free space next to her on the mattress. Big enough for another person to lie down. Lexa’s throat visibly bobs up and down when she glances first at the mattress and then at Clarke, the silent invitation more than obvious.

 

Clarke can only stare wide-eyed for a moment, completely bewildered by Lexa’s unexpected gesture. It is only when she sees Lexa’s face growing increasingly more preoccupied with what Clarke knows is the fear of having crossed some unknown line, that Clarke snaps out of her trance. 

 

She blinks quickly and gets up from the chair, only to sit and then lie down on the bed next to Lexa, her heart pounding surprisingly hard in her chest. She doesn’t bother getting under the blankets. She limits to shift closer to Lexa until their shoulders are brushing together. So close Clarke can see the small water beads in Lexa’s eyelashes.

 

They don’t kiss, they don’t hug. Neither of them needs it. As minutes pass, Lexa’s steady breathing and her calming stare have a soothing effect on Clarke and she feels her heart slowing down. Her body relaxing, her mind unraveling. They just lie there together, looking at each other, waiting for sleep to come. It’s just them here, in this small, sacred place. It is not much, and they are still broken and fragile creatures that the world is ready to break even more. But Clarke looks at Lexa’s eyes as sleep starts claiming her, and she knows that for that sight alone any sacrifice is worthy. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> They're so tragic, am I right? Thank you so much for reading! Let me know what you thought of this chapter, or come scream at me on Tumblr at @hedawolf


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello... guess who's back? I really have no excuse for just about the longest hiatus ever. I can only say that life has been a mess and writer's block was even worse. But here I am, FINALLY, with the new chapter. I hope you guys like it after this ridiculously long wait, and I hope you can forgive me <3

She doesn’t watch Clarke leave. 

 

Lexa has learned long ago how to deal with pain, how to put on a brave face against it, no matter how intense. From the soreness in her muscles to the burning in her heart and soul. Physical or emotional, it doesn’t matter: this is what she has been taught to do to survive.

 

_Push on and endure._

 

And despite this, Lexa knows that she could never survive the agony of saying goodbye to Clarke a second time. She could never look into those blue eyes and find the strength to let Clarke go without begging her to stay. Her heart would not bear it again.

 

So she fakes sleep.

 

Clarke stirs next to her and she keeps her eyes closed, her breathing as deep and even as she can manage. It is harder than she thought it would be: even with her eyes shut and her head turned, she feels Clarke’s stare bearing into her. It’s tempting. She is so tempted to drop her facade and meet Clarke’s gaze.

 

It’s more than just temptation: it’s a physical need, a pull inside her chest. She is _drawn_ to Clarke. That is the kind of power the sky girl holds over her. And that is exactly why she knows she cannot give in. The pain from the bullet hitting her would be nothing compared to watching Clarke turn away and leave.

 

So, she finds the will to fight her instincts, for her own good and for Clarke’s. She has no intention of adding any more guilt on the girl’s shoulders. And knowing Clarke, Lexa has no doubt that, if she spotted the sadness on her face, Clarke wouldn’t hesitate to blame herself.

 

Her only option is this imposed cowardice. 

 

She lets things run their course, she keeps her deceit going. Her eyes remain closed, and in that suspended darkness, everything is more defined, everything slows down. But Lexa’s resolution almost shatters into a million pieces when chapped lips brush faintly against her cheek.

 

A soft, raspy whisper reaches her ears. 

 

_“May we meet again.”_

 

And Lexa feels it. A vise, clenching around her heart, painfully clenching and squeezing, challenged in its hurting power only by the noose tightening around her throat.

 

Clarke is leaving, and Lexa doesn’t want her to. How she wishes she could be selfish. That she could turn around, grab Clarke’s wrist and beg her to stay. But Clarke made her choice and Lexa can do nothing but respect it. Her heart’s desires don’t matter. _Push on and endure._ She can do this for Clarke. She can hold back the tears and let Clarke slip away, at least for now. 

 

That’s the one thing she can’t bring herself to let go of, not after Clarke’s words, not after tasting her lips and feeling her breath on her skin, not after everything they shared.

 

Hope.

 

A quivering sigh, wet with unshed tears, reaches Lexa’s ears, filling her chest with a sadness so overwhelming that only years of training at repressing her feelings stop her from giving in and begging Clarke to stay.

 

Mere seconds that stretch into eternity, but eventually Clarke gets up from the bed.

 

Lexa immediately feels cold, she immediately misses the warmth of Clarke’s body next to hers, and for a moment, for a moment she curses herself. She had gotten used to the loneliness. She had made peace with the fact that she would never have–or _want_ –a body pressed against hers again, that she would never feel that warmth again. But with Clarke not only does she want it: she needs it, she _craves_ it. And being separated from it now feels like spikes of ice penetrating her skin and her heart. Being used to the cold is tolerable. Feeling that spark catch in her heart and light her up, only to have to give it up again, is excruciating.

 

But that is Lexa’s fate, it’s what she does. She bears and bears and doesn’t break, sometimes because she is required to, on rare occasions for her own good. She doesn’t allow herself to break because if she did, she would not know how to put her pieces back together.

 

Her strength only lasts so long, though. Exactly the time it takes for Clarke to walk out of the room.

 

Clarke is delicate in closing the door behind her, caring enough to not want to risk awakening Lexa, but it doesn’t matter. The noise explodes in her ears, and the weight of what it implies crushes her heart like a vise.

 

The tears are falling even before her eyes have opened. Scarce and silent, they make their way down Lexa’s temples, and in the rare privacy of that moment, she just lets them. She looks at the closed door with Clarke’s name on the tip of her tongue, begging to be screamed, but she restrains herself. She does what she was taught to do, what she taught herself to do, and endures the pain, sharper than the bite of the bullet.

 

Her hand comes up to her cheek, where Clarke pressed that faint kiss that almost made her fall apart. In a way, a silly, almost childish way, she hopes it will help preserve the feeling of Clarke’s lips against her skin. That’s all she has for now, for who knows how long: memories and hope.

 

Her voice is a whisper that propagates in the silence of the room, an echo that she foolishly prays will reach Clarke. If not her ears, at least her heart.

 

“May we meet again.”

 

* * *

 

 

_“Clarke…”_

 

_Clarke has always loved Lexa’s way of saying her name. But this–this husky whisper filled with so much need and desire–is something she had not yet heard. It tickles her senses, it settles inside her heart and beneath her skin, becoming immediately addictive._

 

_Wanting to hear it again, she places another soft kiss against the skin of Lexa’s stomach, but it is the flick of her tongue into the dip of Lexa’s navel that gives Clarke even more than what she was hoping for. Lexa lets out a soft gasp this time, before Clarke’s name falls from her lips once again. It makes Clarke’s entire body throb with need._

 

_She had a precise pattern in her mind, but her attention is ripped from it by a hand cradling the side of her face. She looks up and finds hooded green eyes staring right back at her. The utter adoration so visible in them tugs at her heart and at her lower stomach, in a different way than Lexa’s gasps and whimpers had been doing, but no less intense. In fact, it is almost too intense. She cannot hold Lexa’s stare knowing that one hour from now it will be nothing but a memory._

 

_The reality of what is about to happen, of their imminent separation, hits her like a punch to the gut and freezes her on spot. She doesn’t even realize her fingers are tightening and digging into Lexa’s hips until, in a brief moment of focus, she notices that Lexa’s loving expression has turned into a confused frown._

 

_Panic crawls up Clarke’s throat. She doesn’t want this, she doesn’t want to ruin the only moment they have together._

 

_She hides her face from Lexa’s questioning gaze, pressing her forehead against her abdomen, hoping her moment of hesitancy went unnoticed to Lexa, or that at least she will ignore it._

 

_She should know better._

 

_Lexa is the most observant person she has ever met and she can read her better than anyone. She gets proof of this when Lexa says her name again, in the form of a whispered question._

 

_Clarke gives her no reply, she isn’t sure she can, but it only makes Lexa insist further._

 

_“Where are you, Clarke?” she tries again, always gentle and caring, and there is no going back anymore._

 

_Clarke squeezes her eyes shut and before she knows it, her cheeks and Lexa’s stomach are wet with her tears. Her chest fills and tightens painfully with everything she is holding back, everything that she wanted to ignore for one single hour of freedom and peace but that demands to be heard and felt and acknowledged._

 

_“Clarke,” one of Lexa’s hands covers hers where she is still digging her fingers into the grounder’s hip, thumb rubbing softly at its back, “look at me, please.”_

 

_Lexa has a way of saying her name that strips her of any defense and makes her tears run more freely. She is angry at herself for this, and surprised at the same time. She had gotten used to pushing down all those feelings that most scare her, to feeling ready to fall apart and brush it off, because there is always something more important to think about, something more urgent._

 

_It’s oddly ironic that the first moment of true serenity she has known in months is what cracks her barriers and brings everything to the surface._

 

_“I’m sorry,” she breathes against Lexa’s abdomen, so quietly she is sure Lexa felt the vibrations on her skin more than she actually heard the words._

 

_Lexa reaches down to cradle Clarke’s head again, this time adding a delicate pressure to the back of her neck to draw her back up. When Clarke eventually moves and lies down next to Lexa over the soft furs, Clarke doesn’t meet her gaze immediately; she doesn’t want Lexa to see just how wrecked she is, worried that it will ruin the brief minutes they have for good._

 

_Lexa doesn’t push, though. She tucks a strand of hair that had fallen over Clarke’s face behind her ear and her hand stays there, cupping Clarke’s cheek and catching the stubborn tears with her thumb over Clarke’s temple. The tenderness of that simple gesture is enough to make Clarke quiver all over._

 

_“Sorry,” she says again, soothed by Lexa’s delicate touch._

 

_“Don’t be,” Lexa simply replies, and it almost pulls a smile from her. It’s the exact same thing Lexa had whispered a few minutes ago, when Clarke was still foolishly convinced she would be able to repress her feelings for Lexa and leave without ever telling her -or showing her- how she feels about her. Those simple words had made the need to kiss Lexa even more irresistible. They have the exact same effect now too._

 

_When she finally looks up, Clarke’s eyes first stop on Lexa’s lips, plump and flushed with every kiss Clarke had inflicted on them in her desperate hunger. And once she finally finds the courage to meet Lexa’s gaze, all she sees is understanding, a thin veil of sorrow, and that same tenderness she had touched her with._

 

_“We don’t have to do this if you don’t want to, Clarke.”_

 

_“No,” Clarke rushes to say. The last thing she wants is for Lexa to think Clarke doesn’t want her, or that her feelings aren’t reciprocated. “I want this, I do.”_

 

_“Then what’s wrong?” Lexa asks, knowing Clarke enough to understand that there is something more she isn’t saying yet._

 

_“I…” She reaches for Lexa’s free hand between their bodies and tugs her closer. Her voice is a broken whisper full of emotion when she finally finds a way to put her feelings into words. “I don’t want this to be a goodbye.”_

 

_She sees the change on Lexa’s face immediately. Her eyebrows, quirked up in a small frown, slowly relax, and bright green eyes suddenly widen. Clarke almost wants to ask her the reason for that surprised expression. She wonders with a knot in her stomach if Lexa thought Clarke didn’t want anything more out of this, just one hour of pleasure and oblivion. And if that’s the case, she wonders whether Lexa would have said anything or she would have just let Clarke take what she wanted. But Lexa’s gaze is so intense -it says so much that words could never convey- that Clarke is rendered speechless._

 

_“I don’t want it to be a goodbye either.”_

 

_Lexa’s hand trembles so lightly against Clarke’s cheek and her lips curl into a small, delicate, surprised smile that tugs directly at Clarke’s heart and leaves her gasping for air. The green of Lexa’s eyes is nothing short of dazzling and she looks so open and vulnerable and_ beautiful _that Clarke thinks she is going to die if she doesn’t kiss her immediately._

 

_So that’s what she does. She leans forward and presses her lips against Lexa’s, her eyes falling closed with the sweetness and softness of them. There is no attempt from either of them to move things forward. They’re just content with kissing like this, gently and softly, sighing into each other’s mouth. It’s a moment that almost feels sacred in its delicacy._

 

_Lexa is the first to break the kiss. Her cheeks are now covered with a faint blush that only makes Clarke want to pull her in again for another kiss. She restrains her urges, though, knowing that Lexa probably wants to talk. Honestly, she wants the same, she just struggles with taming her attraction: everything about Lexa is intoxicating._

 

_The thick bobbing of Lexa’s throat tells her Lexa is feeling exactly the same._

 

_“You’re not crying anymore,” Lexa murmurs with a relieved smile. They’re so close that when Clarke shakes her head, their foreheads almost brush together. The warmth of Lexa’s body is soothing, their closeness steadies her heartbeat until it stops thudding violently against her ribcage._

 

_Her sorrow for the unfairness of their fate is still there, but now that she has stopped trying to suppress it, it has become a little easier to bear. Maybe it has to do with the fact Lexa was there to catch her when she broke down._

 

_“I hate this,” she finally whispers. “I wanted this, really. I wanted at least one moment to be just about… us.” She traces her fingertips down Lexa’s bare back as she speaks, reveling in every small shiver that runs through the grounder’s body._

 

_“But?”_

 

_“But it’s not,” Clarke huffs, knitting her eyebrows in frustration at her inability to just shut down her mind. “I keep thinking about what’s gonna happen once I get out of this room. I’m going back to Arkadia and then what? What if a war starts and this hour is all we got? What if I never see you again and it’s–”_

 

_“Do you want to see me again?”_

 

_The question takes Clarke aback. Her fingers freeze on Lexa’s spine, mouth slightly agape as she stares into Lexa’s eyes. They’re filled with a determination that could seem more suitable for the hard Commander than the soft girl in Clarke’s arms. But they’re not two separate entities, being Heda is and has always been a part of Lexa. She is a delicate balance between harshness and tenderness, and her eyes can be firm without drowning out the soft light in her green irises._

 

_“Do you want to see me again?” Lexa asks again when Clarke fails to reply immediately. It’s the tiniest hint of worry on her face, so subtle to probably result invisible to everyone who doesn’t know Lexa as well as she does, that shakes Clarke out of her stupor. The blunt honesty of Lexa’s question surprised Clarke so much it takes her a moment to remember how to form words._

 

_“I– yes.” Once she finally does, there is no trace of hesitancy in her voice. “Yes.”_

 

_The smile Lexa gives her after her answer is beautifully contagious. “Then we will meet again.”_

 

_She says it like there’s not a single doubt in her mind that it’s true, and the confidence in her words is enough to give Clarke hope and convince her. Clarke nods, leaning in at the same time Lexa does. Her breath is hot on Clarke’s cheek, and when their lips finally touch again, it’s so overwhelming she is left breathless. It’s barely a gentle peck, but it’s enough to make her heart race. Instinctively, she hugs Lexa tighter, pulling her so close that even after they break the kiss, their bodies are still flush together. She’ll never get tired of how responsive Lexa is to her touch. Strong muscles going pliant under Clarke’s hands. Now more than ever she wishes she had all the time in the world to discover all the ways to make Lexa fall apart._

 

_“We don’t have to rush this,” Lexa says, like she is reading Clarke’s mind._

 

_She trails her fingers over Clarke’s collarbone and her shoulder and down her arm, a touch so light that makes Clarke shiver. Only when she gets to the dip of her elbow Clarke understands what she wants. She doesn’t make Lexa ask; willingly, she moves her arm away from Lexa’s waist and lace her hands together, a smaller connection that feels just as intimate as their previous embrace. The undeniable happiness that lights up Lexa’s eyes spreads warmth inside her chest and through her limbs, and she wonders what Lexa’s reaction would be if she brought her hand to her lips and kissed it._

 

_Yes, she doesn’t want to rush this. She wants to discover every little thing,_ Lexa _, slowly, gradually._

 

_“And this doesn’t have to be a goodbye,” Lexa goes on, bringing up Clarke’s fear just to push it away. “This is–”_

 

_“A promise,” Clarke finishes for her with a whisper more uttered to herself than to Lexa. The grounder still hears her, though, and she sighs contentedly, nodding once._

 

_“A promise,” she repeats._

 

_It’s all they have for now, their words and their hope, and it’s enough. After the anguish that had threatened to swallow Clarke mere minutes ago, this is everything._

 

_It’s all she needs and wants for now. Lexa’s hand in hers, their bodies aligned together, Lexa’s sighs against her lips, her name on Lexa’s tongue, breathed out in that unique way that leaves her giddy every time._

 

_“Clarke.”_

 

“Clarke!”

 

Clarke snaps out of her memory to find Octavia’s annoyed glare bearing into her. The transition from the memory of Lexa’s gentle gaze to her friend’s harsh stare is jarring to say the least.

 

“Are you even listening to me?” Her voice matches perfectly the abrasiveness in her eyes; it makes Clarke miss what she left in Polis only more. Who she left.

 

“I got distracted.”

 

She doesn’t even bother apologizing or trying to find an excuse, she knows it would be pointless either way. And when a curse slithers out of Octavia’s mouth, Clarke just ignores it. She simply clutches her jacket tighter to her chest and rests her head against the trunk of the tree behind her. Thinking about the hour spent with Lexa, remembering that warmth and tenderness and bittersweet joy, only heightens her senses in the most unpleasant way. The bite of the cold cuts through her skin and settles in her bones, her body shakes and her teeth chatter with it. It makes her think about the months spent living in the wilderness. _Living_ … pretending to live. Every day the same, spent in a haze of numbness and guilt. Not brave enough to just end it all, or ashamed enough to think herself undeserving of an easy way out.

 

It has been weeks since the last time she thought about it, since the last time she felt the urge to run away from something.

 

“Goddamnit, Clarke. You’ve barely said a word since we passed the blockade. Raven could give us the signal any minute now, and you’re sleepwalking. You could at least pretend that you care.”

 

And Clarke feels it. She feels it as Octavia’s words ring in her ears, she feels it while she stares at the bulky shape of Arkadia, cold metal and harsh angles imposing their presence in the soft, green harmony of the forest, barely a few feet away from where they’re hiding: this growling anger inside her, enticing her to scream that she is tired of having to prove herself over and over, tired of her efforts never being enough. But she does what she is slowly becoming better and better at, and she puts her feelings on hold, she keeps her anger simmering in its cage.

 

“I do care, Octavia. I just don’t give a damn about convincing you that I do.” Her tired, listless tone is the exact opposite of what Octavia was expecting, and definitely not something she appreciates. If looks could kill, Clarke would be long dead by now. The last time Octavia looked at her with such disdain was after finding out about TonDC.

 

“Whatever,” Octavia snarls quietly, shaking her head, “keep this up, but I’m telling you. If Lincoln dies because you didn’t try hard enough–”

 

“Are you serious right now?!” Clarke’s head snaps towards Octavia at the threat.

 

“I’m dead serious.”

 

“Then what is ‘enough’ for you, uh?” Clarke hisses, wishing she could scream instead. Her anger comes back, pounding at its cage, demanding to be let out. “Because nothing I do seems to ever be enough. There is _always_ something wrong, something I could have done differently, something I could have done better.”

 

“Don’t twist this to try and make me the bad guy, Clarke. You’re not a saint, don’t act like you are.”

 

“Oh, great.” Clarke scoffs, her patience coming dangerously close to its limit. “You come to me for help, but I’m the bad guy.”

 

“No, you’re not. You’re the one who runs away.”

 

Any reply or snarky retort Clarke had ready immediately dies in her throat. Octavia’s words chill her worse than the cold air and the gusty wind have been doing so far.

 

_I had to_ , she tries to tell herself. She knows she had her reasons to leave, she knows she should be confident that what she did was for the best, but she still finds herself lowering her gaze in shame. With so few words Octavia still managed to shatter the glass wall keeping her ghosts at bay. Rejecting them and standing up for herself would be much easier if a part of her didn’t agree with the way Octavia sees her. A coward.

 

“Tell me…” There is barely any challenge in her voice anymore, it almost resembles a plea now, and she hates it. “Tell me what is enough.”

 

She meets Octavia’s eyes again, and she is surprised to see that, beyond the hard stare, lies something that looks very much like uncertainty. If she wasn’t so exhausted, Clarke would almost find it funny: asking her to do more without even knowing what that ‘more’ should be.

 

“I don’t…” Octavia forcefully shakes her head, looking almost angry at not being able to find a direct answer. Eventually, she just clenches her jaw and puffs out a sigh through gritted teeth. “Look, I don’t know what’s enough. But you fight here the same way you fought to keep Lexa alive and that’s going to be a start.”

 

“Octavia, I…”

 

Her attempts at trying to reply to what Octavia told her are abruptly cut off when the younger girl quickly silences her and brings her hand to her earpiece, listening carefully to whom Clarke assumes is Raven.

 

“Path is clear,” she briefs Clarke, “we gotta move now. Ready?” Clarke just nods, standing up with Octavia. “Alright, let’s go.”

 

Octavia goes first, coming out of the bushes that were sheltering them, and making a beeline for the hidden entrance in the metal skeleton of Arkadia, the same they used weeks before. Clarke follows directly behind her, trying her best to keep up with Octavia’s swift and silent pace. The sky is covered and they’re surrounded by a veil of mist, but Clarke’s heart still hammers with the fear of being caught. 

 

She knows it is a matter of seconds, but the time they take to run those few feet out in the open stretches into hours to Clarke’s perception, and it is only when finally the small opening comes into view and they sneak inside that Clarke feels like she can breathe again. 

 

The first part is done, they’re in.

 

She doesn’t have the time to sigh in relief that a body collides against her and makes her almost stumble, as a pair of arms is suddenly around her neck, squeezing her into a hug that takes the air out of her lungs. Initially stunted with surprise, she remains frozen for a couple of seconds, but soon she finds herself answering to the hug. Her eyes fall closed and she allows herself to relax into the embrace for the shortest moment, suddenly realizing how much she needed this. How much she missed her friend.

 

“Raven…”

 

Raven tightens her arms around her when she whispers her name, and Clarke wonders if her friend missed her as much as she did. It seems unrealistic, after everything Clarke took away from her, but Raven is holding her, her grip stronger than when she hugged Clarke before TonDC–yet another time when she took Clarke by surprise–and suddenly Clarke’s eyes are prickling with emotions: after spending so much time alone, she truly needed this kind of affection. More gritty than tender, but nonetheless making her feel _alive_.

 

“Can you cut this short? We’ve already wasted enough time.” Octavia’s voice breaks the moment, and Clarke steals one last squeeze to Raven before quickly letting her go. Weirdly enough, Octavia’s reminder of their dire situation makes her feel guilty for letting herself melt in that brief moment of affection.

 

She is surprised, though, when Raven stands up to the younger girl with determined voice. “I haven’t seen her in four months, Octavia. Waiting a minute won’t make any difference.”

 

“It’s okay, Raven,” Clarke complies, not before shooting her friend a grateful look. “Octavia is right, we can’t waste time.”

 

“Same old Clarke… never taking a break,” Raven quirks.

 

“I’ll take a break once we’re not on the brink of war.”

 

“Alright, let’s go then.” Raven checks briefly behind the corner before signaling Clarke and Octavia to follow her down the hallway. 

 

Just like that, they’re thrust back into action: Raven leading them and Octavia constantly checking behind them, ready to react in case anyone catches them. There’s a deep sense of uneasiness down in Clarke’s stomach as she realizes how natural it comes for her to feel like this. To always feel ready for the worst to happen. The dread, the quiet anguish she has learned to silence. It feels like she has lived in that state of constant tension ever since she landed on the Ground.

 

“So it’s really happening, uh?” Raven whispers as they keep walking, taking Clarke out of her thoughts. “Lexa is the good guy now.”

 

Now _that_ is something Clarke definitely wasn’t ready for. Raven doesn’t glance back at her, Clarke is not even sure her friend wants a comment from her, but her words are enough to almost stun Clarke in place.

 

“Never thought I’d see this day come,” Raven goes on. There’s a little hitch in her voice, and Clarke’s eyes instinctively fall on Raven’s leg. She is dragging it a bit, her hand tight on her hipbone; not a word of complaint leaves her mouth, but Clarke knows Raven is in pain. Suddenly everything Clarke is doing takes on a darker shade. She knows Pike will only lead her people to destruction, she knows what she is doing is right, she knows _Lexa_. But she thinks about the explosion in the dam and she grimly realizes that Lexa’s betrayal rippled through in ways she hadn’t even thought of initially. Raven lives with chronic pain because of something that was ultimately meaningless. And despite this, she is working with her, indirectly working with Lexa, and Clarke doesn’t really have it in her to tell Raven that it’s more complicated than good guys vs bad guys.

 

No more words are spoken after that, replaced instead by the light tap of their footsteps and a tense silence. It is surreal how this place that Clarke used to consider a shelter now instills so much worry in her. Minutes stretch into hours in Clarke’s head, every little sound is a jolt to her heart, and when they finally reach a metal door that Clarke recognizes as the back entrance of med bay, she lets out a relieved breath that she didn’t even know she was holding.

 

Raven doesn’t waste time and immediately knocks on the door, two quick knocks and three slow ones. With every second that passes, Clarke grows warier. They can do nothing but wait now. If a guard were to pass in that moment, she would have nowhere to run. 

 

The fear she had felt before comes back full force, making her heart speeds up with every new awful scenario taking shape in her mind, and she knows that not even a full minute has gone by but she can’t help but ask herself, _“Why is it taking so long?”_

 

Thoughts she doesn’t want in her head start taking form despite her will. She doesn’t want to be this person, doubting everything and everyone. And yet… what if this is all a trick? Octavia told her Monty was at the village with Pike’s people, she had trusted Bellamy to listen to her and he had cuffed her and was going to take her to Pike. Can she be sure Raven didn’t switch to their side too? 

 

She slowly turns her head, looking at the hallway they came from, but before she can even think about backing away, the door opens and she is dragged inside. 

 

She doesn’t have the time to be ashamed of her thoughts about her friend. Everything is swept aside by the feeling of her mother’s arms around her.

 

“Thank God you’re okay.”

 

Abby wraps her arms even tighter around Clarke and she lets her, answering to the hug with just as much intensity and burying her face in her neck, breathing her mother in. She knows they don’t have time to waste, but she can’t help but be selfish for this handful of seconds. Only now Clarke is hit by just how much she missed her mother; the two rushed, frantic encounters they had had in the past few weeks had not been even remotely enough. And yet, her heart aches with the knowledge that this is yet another one of those moments.

 

She revels in her mother’s embrace for a few more seconds before unwittingly forcing herself to break it.

 

“Are you alright? Did you run into any danger?” Abby asks worried, cupping Clarke’s face. Her eyes are strictly focused on the injury on her forehead.

 

“No one saw us,” Octavia cuts in before Clarke can reassure her mother. “Indra got us past the blockade and we made it here safely.”

 

“I’m fine, mom,” Clarke promises, before taking her mother’s hands with her own, giving them a reaffirming squeeze. She can still read the concern in her mother’s eyes, but Abby just accepts her daughter’s words with a nod.

 

“Mom…” Clarke starts, bringing back the focus on the real reason she is there to begin with. “How bad is it?”

 

The heavy sigh that leaves Abby’s mouth is enough of an answer before she even utters any word.

 

“I didn’t think things could turn this bad this quickly. Pike has put Arkadia on lockdown. Everyone suspected of resisting is being constantly watched. Every day becomes more dangerous for us, for Sinclair, for… for Marcus.”

 

Clarke doesn’t miss the way her mother’s voice wavers on Kane’s name.

 

“Pike says Arkadia is our home, but ever since he became Chancellor, it’s turning more and more into a prison,” Raven adds, spite dripping from her tongue.

 

“What about here?” Clarke asks, only more worried after the grim description of the situation. “Are we safe here?”

 

Abby nods, leaning against one of the metal tables. “After Pike interned Lincoln and all the sick grounders, I got him to give me full control over the access to med bay.”

 

“Really? And he agreed?”

 

“He can’t exactly afford to lose his chief doctor, especially when he’s planning to start a war.”

 

Her mother’s intelligence and determination make the corner of Clarke’s mouth quirks up in the smallest hint of a smile, smile that unfortunately dies all too quickly.

 

“So we’re alone here?” she asks for confirmation, looking around and seeing nothing by empty beds and plastic curtains surrounding some of them.

 

“Yes,” Raven nods. “Just us and the nutcase.”

 

Clarke’s eyebrows furrow in confusion. “Nutcase?”

 

She looks between her friends and her mother, searching for an explanation. Abby’s scolding look to Raven, for her choice of words she assumes, does nothing but confuse her more.

 

And when her mother eventually walks towards one of the beds in the most secluded area of the bay and moves away the curtain around it, Clarke finally gets her answer. Once she could have never predicted.

 

“Jaha?!”

 

She rushes next to her mother, trying to make sense of what she is seeing. Last time she had seen the former chancellor, Arkadia still bore his name and he was raving about finding safety for their people in an unknown place. After finding out he had run away, she had just assumed he was dead. But again, she had assumed the same for Murphy as well, only to find him tied up in her chambers in Polis.

 

After all these months on the Ground, she should be used to the unexpected, and yet she isn’t. Earth still finds ways to surprise her.

 

“What happened to him?” she asks. In a way, he looks healthier than the last time she had seen him, bruised and covered in wounds, but at the same time, he is barely recognizable. His eyes look hollow and haunted, fixed blankly on a spot on the ceiling; his lips move constantly, like he is muttering something unintelligible. 

 

Clarke can’t help but frown, seeing the leather cuffs around his wrists, keeping him strapped to the bed. There is no trace of the proud, strong man that used to be in charge of the Ark. Barely a shadow remains.

 

“We don’t know,” Abby answers to her question. “We found him outside the gates of Arkadia a few days ago. He was… delirious.” She shakes her head for a moment, almost like she is still trying to make sense of that memory.

 

“Yeah, it wasn’t a nice show,” Raven steps in for Abby. “He screamed whenever someone would try to touch him. Kept going on about how everything was too intense. ‘Hurts too much! Take it away again!’”

 

She ends her imitation of the bound man with a mirthless chuckle. Clarke watches her, waiting for her to go on, but Raven doesn’t. She stares at the floor, lost in her own thoughts and clenching her hand around her injured leg.

 

Clarke is about to ask her friend if she is okay, when her mother’s words catch her attention.

 

“And a woman.”

 

“What?”

 

“He mentioned a woman. We don’t know who, he was never coherent enough to explain. All he said is that someone drowned her apparently. ‘ _He_ drowned her and now it hurts.’ That was the most we could get out of him.” 

 

Abby glances back at the man, still completely disinterested in their presence. “We’ve had to keep him like this ever since… Look at him, Clarke.” Abby’s voice tinges with sadness and fear. “I’m not even sure I wanna know what, or who, caused this.”

 

“Does it really matter?”

 

All three women are taken aback by Octavia’s sudden, spiteful words. She had stayed silent the whole time and Clarke hadn’t even noticed, so wrapped up in what her mother was telling her.

 

Clarke turns to look at the younger girl, finding her leaning against a wall with her arms tightly crossed over her chest and her fist clenched, not even sparing a look for the man tied to the bed. Her face is a mask of rigidity, but her eyes burn.

 

“He got what he deserved. I don’t give a damn about how it happened.”

 

Only after seeing the barely contained rage and grief in Octavia’s eyes, Clarke understands the reason for her harsh, unforgiving words. She often forgets just how much Octavia suffered and lost because of the Council, because of Jaha.

 

“Why are we even wasting time with him?!” Octavia suddenly snaps, pushing away from the wall and pointing at Jaha’s bed. “Don’t we have more important things to discuss? It’s why we’re here! Lincoln is locked up, and you’re wasting time talking about–“

 

“You’re right.”

 

Octavia’s angry complaints die in her mouth the moment Clarke interrupts her. After all the time spent arguing, having Clarke agree with her with no hesitation was the last thing she expected.

 

“She is right,” Clarke repeats to her mother. She does the best to ignore the shocked look on Abby’s face when she moves past her and pulls the curtain back around Jaha’s bed, shutting down the discussion once and for all. “We’ve got bigger concerns now. We can take care of this once our people are safe.”

 

“And how do you plan to do this, Clarke?” Abby eventually asks.

 

“Lexa doesn’t want to wipe out Arkadia. That’s why she didn’t retaliate after the massacre. She wants peace, just like we do.” Her jaw clenches involuntarily with the thought that Lexa almost died because of this. She forcefully pushes it down, though, knowing she can’t allow herself to be distracted right now, and keeps going.

 

“The attack to the village made things worse, but she doesn’t want revenge against all our people. She only wants the true responsible.”

 

“Pike.”

 

Clarke nods.

 

“That’s why she enforced a blockade. If we give her Pike, she will lift it and we’ll avoid war.”

 

“But Clarke… he has complete control over Arkadia. People voted for him, they’re not just gonna hand him over.”

 

“Do they really know what they voted for?”

 

That makes Abby stop. She stares intently at her daughter, trying to figure out where she is going with this.

 

“What do you mean?”

 

Clarke doesn’t answer immediately. She racks her brain, trying to sort out her thoughts, to understand whether what she is thinking does actually make sense or if it’s just a hopeless excuse in the lack of a better, _real_ plan.

 

“She told me about the speech Pike made after coming back from the massacre,” she begins, pointing at Octavia. “She told me he used words to twist the truth about what he and his men really did.”

 

“Yeah,” Octavia confirms. She can’t stop the shudder that runs through her body at the thought of all those dead grounders. “He only talked about paying tribute to the dead. Not a word about what they did on that field.” All her spite slithers through her words.

 

“It’s true,” Raven suddenly cuts in. “Sinclair told me what Kane told him, but without that I would have never found out the truth. Pike was smart. He used grief to get traction with people.” Her words come out muffled when she lowers her head, tucking her chin against her chest, but Clarke still hears them, staggered and breathy. “It must have been easy… Everyone suffers here.”

 

It’s a punch to the gut, and Clarke hates it. She hates not having time to try to comfort her friend, she hates that all she can do is shoot her a sympathetic, _useless_ look. 

 

“Where are you going with this, Clarke?”

 

Her mother’s concerned voice snaps her out of her sad thoughts, only further proving the grim reality of them. There is no time for sympathy, no time for comfort. Their world is made of impossible choices and constant anguish.

 

What keeps her going is the hope that things will change. She should have given up on it by now, it has only caused her more pain. And yet, that is something she just cannot bring herself to do.

 

So, she forces herself to push through one more emotional sacrifice and goes back to explaining her plan.

 

“People don’t know the truth about Pike. He painted the grounders as the threat. That made people afraid and they followed him. They don’t know we had achieved peace. They think this war is being caused by the grounders, not Pike. What would they do if they knew the truth? If they knew there was a way to avoid a bloodbath?”

 

“So you’re saying,” Abby starts slowly, making sure she fully understood what her daughter is planning to do. “You’re saying we should come clean with everyone? And that’s gonna convince them to turn against Pike?”

 

“I’m not saying we appeal to their morality, mom. I’m appealing to their survival instinct.”

 

Clarke can’t remember the time she became capable of being this cold and cynical. She can read on her mother’s face that she is thinking the exact same thing.

 

“And you think this could work?”

 

Clarke shrugs. “We’ve seen it happen before, haven’t we?”

 

She doesn’t need to be more specific for everyone to understand she is referring to Finn. They all remember the way everyone had turned on him after finding out about Lexa’s demands, even Abby and Kane. 

 

No names are pronounced and yet, her mother goes suddenly stiff and her eyes glance worriedly to her left. Clarke doesn’t follow her line of sight. She just can’t. She can’t bear to look at Raven after she just reminded her of the worst day of her life. 

 

It makes no difference, though. Her throat tightens to the point of pain anyway.

 

“Besides,” she loudly clears her throat, swallowing back the tears before they even have the chance to form, “this is the only plan I can come up with. If you have a better idea, please tell me.”

 

She is met with nothing but silence.

 

The three women exchange meaningful looks, all meditating on Clarke’s proposition, wondering whether a plan that seems based on desperation can actually work.

 

“Okay.”

 

Clarke wasn’t expecting it, but it is Octavia the first one to agree. After the fierceness of her criticism towards her, Clarke wasn’t sure she would have her support, let alone before anyone else.

 

“Yeah?” Clarke asks, still surprised, and Octavia gives her a convinced nod.

 

“Yeah. It’s the best thing any of us has come up with so far. And with all the chaos that will ensue, I’ll have a chance to get Lincoln out of jail.”

 

“Octavia, that could be too–“

 

“Everything about this is dangerous.” Octavia doesn’t even let Abby finish. “I’m not waiting for Pike to put a bullet in his brain. If the opportunity comes, I’m not gonna waste it.”

 

Clarke has clashed with Octavia in the past. Their relationship had never been truly mended after TonDC, and most of their interactions from that day had consisted of quarreling and disagreements. Not this time, though. This time, Clarke understands the younger girl perfectly. She doesn’t need to make any effort to imagine Octavia’s fear: she lived it, not even a day ago.

 

“It’s okay.” Clarke puts a hand on Octavia’s shoulder and gives it a reassuring squeeze. “I hope you’ll get your chance.”

 

Clarke finds the same surprise she had experienced at Octavia’s immediate support reflected in her friend’s eyes. For the first time in months, they seem to have reached a mutual understanding. It feels better than Clarke would have imagined, despite the dark circumstances.

 

“Clarke…” Her mother’s voice breaks the friends’ quiet moment and forces them back into the reality of the situation. “Even if we go on with this plan, how are we gonna do this? You can’t just walk in the middle of Arkadia and hold a speech in front of our people. I can’t either. Pike would stop us immediately.”

 

“I can make it work.”

 

Three heads simultaneously turn to stare at Raven. The girl had been quiet for a while, and the sudden confidence that exudes from her voice is almost jarring compared to the muffled, wavering words she had last uttered.

 

“We don’t need to get Clarke in front of everyone.” She looks so different now, pacing back and forth, charged with newfound energy. She seems to be in her own world, ten steps ahead of everyone else. “We just need to find a way to get them to _hear_ what you have to say.”

 

“What are you saying, Raven?”

 

“I’m saying…” she finally looks at Clarke, and the blonde sees a spark light up her dark eyes, like she finally cracked an impossible code, “all we need to do is hook you up to the speakers and the screens. I make sure they can’t shut you out, and then no one’s stopping you!”

 

Clarke takes a deep breath, mulling over what Raven just suggested, trying to run through every variable, every little thing that could go wrong. She comes up with a list that is far too long to consider this a good plan, and yet, this is the first time since they’ve tried to come up with something that she feels a glimmer of hope tingling in her chest. In a hopeless situation, it’s enough to almost leave her giddy.

 

“And you think this could work?” 

 

Her words are tinged with a silent plea. Raven is the smartest person she knows, and she had never had any doubt she would play a vital role in the devising of a successful strategy. The mechanic still managed to amaze her, though, turning her theoretical, hopeless plan in a very possible reality.

 

This is why she has no qualms now about begging Raven not to take that hope away.

 

“Yes! Yeah, it can!” Raven’s enthusiastic response injects a flow of relief in Clarke’s system. “Give me the time to set up a few things and then I can–“

 

Raven stops mid-sentence.

 

Clarke doesn’t have to ask her what’s wrong, none of them do. They all heard the rustling sound coming from behind them, and when Clarke turns around to look at what caused it, that same relief she had been feeling seconds ago turns into icy dread, chilling her to the bone and freezing her on spot. Her throat clogs up at the sight of the scrawny boy scrambling to get off one of the beds, holding on to the curtain that had kept him hidden to avoid falling on the floor.

 

She didn’t expect her reunion with Jasper to be under these circumstances.

 

She had given a lot of thoughts to a possible reunion with the young boy, but _this_ , this is a scenario she definitely had not predicted.

 

“Whoops… My bad, I didn’t mean to interrupt your little meaning.”

 

His voice is drowsy, eyes red and glazed over. It’s easy for Clarke to tell he is drunk, maybe something more, even. What is less easy is to stand there and bear his stare, burning into her despite the haziness of it.

 

Who is she kidding, it’s downright impossible. And yet… she can’t bring herself to look away.

 

“Jasper, what are you doing here?”

 

Her mother’s voice shakes Clarke out of her paralysis but it’s not enough, she still doesn’t move or say anything. She is not sure she can.

 

“Relax, doc.” Jasper’s voice is calm, playful almost. It’s a startling contrast with the quiet tension that has rapidly filled the room. “I just wanted to borrow a couple of these.”

 

He reaches into his pocket and takes out a small bottle of sleeping pills. He doesn’t explain, doesn’t need to. Clarke hasn’t been there to witness his downward spiral, but she knows exactly what caused it. _Who_. And the vise of guilt around her heart, a constant presence for months now, makes itself heard again with a painful squeeze.

 

“I hid when I heard voices but I definitely wasn’t expecting _you_.”

 

His eyes are back on Clarke, but they are colder this time. So cold they make Clarke want to close hers and flinch away.

 

His next words actually make her.

 

“Are you here to melt us this time?”

 

“We’re not doing this right now, Jasper. You shouldn’t even be in here.”

 

Clarke can hear her mother talking to Jasper, she knows her voice probably sounds firm and clear, but everything that reaches her ears is muffled and distant. The maddening thumping in her temples is suddenly back, and there is another sound, getting progressively more and more clear as everything around her threatens to slip away. Screams and cries she knows aren’t there, but refuse to stay in the past.

 

She digs her fingernails in her palm hard enough to cut through the skin; the stinging pain is welcome if it stops her memories for choking her.

 

Only when the pain drowns the screams away and she is certain her grip on reality is solid again, she opens her eyes and faces what is currently happening.

 

She notices that her mother has moved protectively in front of her: not because she thinks Jasper could physically harm her, she is sure of it, but probably to shield her heard from Jasper’s emotional attack.

 

It’s a considerate gesture. Also entirely ineffective.

 

She doesn’t have time to think about this now, though, there never seems to be enough time.

 

“Jasper, I know that seeing me again must feel–”

 

“Don’t you dare presume you know how I feel.”

 

He cuts her off, spitting out those words with venom and hatred that Clarke had never heard in his voice before, that she didn’t think she would ever hear. She remembers how he was when they got on the Ground. So cheerful, happy, full of life. She can’t find any trace of that kid in him now. A complete different person.

 

And the hardest truth to accept is that Earth didn’t cause this: she did.

 

“Jasper, I’m s–”

 

“Don’t.” He stops her again, his voice shaking just as much as hers. “I don’t wanna hear it. I don’t wanna hear anything you have to say.”

 

There is a sense of irrevocability to his words, something that tells Clarke any other attempt at apologizing is going to make him snap. The unshed tears in his eyes only confirm this.

 

“You make quite the team.”

 

Jasper’s attention suddenly shifts from Clarke to the other three women, who had stayed quiet so far, wondering how to handle the situation.

 

“Clarke Griffin and the people she deemed worth saving.” The joyless laugh he lets out crawls under Clarke’s skin, so unsettling it almost makes her wince. But when his eyes are back on her, pained and unforgiving, that deep feeling of discomfort turns into a violent wave of nausea. “Too bad Maya wasn’t one of them.”

 

Too much. There are too many feelings at once, pulsing and pounding inside her. Clarke doesn’t know how to deal with them, she wants to cry and beg for Jasper’s forgiveness, she wants to yell and ask him what he would have done in her place, she wants to tell him she sees Maya in her dreams, that she still tortures herself over her death, that she wishes she had found another way.

 

But there was no other way, like there are no words now that could make this better.

 

So she stays silent. She bares his stare, watches the anger and pain grow in his eyes, and she stays silent.

 

“Jasper… we don’t have time for this right now.”

 

It’s Octavia who breaks the thick silence that had settled between them. Her voice is gentle, sympathetic, as she tries to reach out to him.

 

“Right… right.” He finally looks away from Clarke and acknowledges Octavia’s words. 

 

“There’s a war to stop.” His lips pull into a smile that is nothing but disturbing. “We gotta hope the grounders stay true to their words this time.”

 

“Jasper, you can’t tell anyone you–”

 

“Don’t worry,” he stops Octavia and winks at her. Clarke’s heart cracks at the edges when a tear tumbles down his cheek.” Lucky for you, I don’t give a damn about anything anymore. I have other priorities.”

 

He highlights the meaning behind his words by shaking the bottle of pills in his hand.

 

It should be reassuring, Clarke’s most pragmatic, cold side _is_ reassured by his words. And yet, they also spread a horrible feeling of dread, dread tied to a question only Abby has the courage to ask.

 

“What do you want to do with those pills, Jasper?”

 

There is no hiding the apprehension in her voice, everyone knows what she really is asking, including Jasper.

 

“Chill, Dr. Griffin. If I’d wanted to kill myself, I would have put a bullet in my head months ago. I’m not there yet.”

 

They all flinch at that ‘yet’. Nothing about what he said makes breathing any easier, nothing uncoils the knot in their stomachs. His words aren’t comforting, they’re only frightening.

 

“Look, so you all calm down.”

 

He opens the bottle of sleeping pills, takes two out, lifting them up in the air so they can all see. Then he pops them into his mouth. Every movement is exaggerated, like he is putting on a show for them, like this is all a big joke.

 

It’s not funny, it’s heartbreakingly upsetting.

 

No one says anything when Jasper crashes on the same bed he had used to hide his presence. There is an unspoken feeling of relief permeating the air, though, _true_ relief, at seeing him stay true to his words. A brief moment of respite that still isn’t enough to balance the uneasiness and sorrow.

 

“Go back to your war, I don’t have time for that,” he mumbles with his eyes already closed. “Welcome back, Clarke.”

 

Those are his last words before he blindly reaches for the curtain and pulls it back around the bed, turning into a dark shape over the plastic sheet.

 

A deafening silence falls in the bay. Everything so quiet and still they can almost hear Jaha’s nonsensical muttering.

 

Clarke is still frozen in place, staring at Jasper even though she cannot see him anymore. She did this to her friend, and she will never be able to fix things.

 

her mind is a cruel, deceptive beast, forcing her to relive memories from months before, memories of Jasper waking up after being speared and smiling at her, memories of his contagious enthusiasm, of his arms around her when they had first reunited in Mount Weather.

 

It feels like it all happened in another life.

 

“Are you okay?”

 

Clarke realizes her mother has moved close to her only when she hears the question. She hadn’t even noticed the gentle touch of Abby’s hand on her arm.

 

“Clarke.”

 

_No, I’m not okay. No one is okay._

 

She doesn’t say anything. She blinks away the tears and does what she has learned to do best: she focuses on the current problem she has to deal with. Her feelings can wait, they have been waiting ever since she landed on Earth, it feels.

 

“So can you do it?” She turns to Raven, her voice clipped and rough. “Can you make this work?”

 

Raven hesitates for a moment, taken aback by Clarke’s sudden question, by her abrupt shift back to business, like the incident with Jasper never happened. She seems to understand, though, or maybe the wet redness of Clarke’s eyes gives away her inner agitation.

 

Clarke can’t be sure, because Raven doesn’t inquire. She only inhales one long, deep breath and nods.

 

It’s enough for Clarke.

 

“Good. Then let’s do this.”


End file.
